


Grey Over St Petersburg

by Ashida



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: All Aboard, Artist!Akihito, Cheesy, Crack, Death by Mikhito, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Smut, I repeat: Slow Build, I'm Not Sorry for the Pairing, M/M, Mikhail is Life, Romance, Russian Mafia, Slow Build, This ship has fucking sailed, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, and it's never coming back
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-25 13:29:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 73,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2623451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashida/pseuds/Ashida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first stop is St Petersburg; Russia. Little did he know, it would be his last, because as he sat outside a cafe, trying to vanquish his jet lag with caffeine, he saw him, and was overwhelmed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tarantasik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarantasik/gifts).



> My homage to Mikhail Arbatov. Because he is mine XD
> 
> I debated whether to put this on AO3 or not but this one has been eating at me for a while now, the first chapters sat completed, and I got restless.  
> The more I think about it, the more I ship it, the more I'm unable to write anything else, because this ship has fucking sailed far far away, and it's never coming back, I'm not sorry for it. My OTP for this fandom for sure. 
> 
> I just hope in the end people will like it as much as I like it in my own head, even though I know it's not everyones' favorite pair.
> 
> Also, the theme 'Grey' has nothing to do with the currently trending 50 Shades of Grey and is purely coincidental - I am not a fan of that work, and never will be.

Juvenile delinquent was an overstatement, definitely.

 

First off, there were the vandalism charges, though he called it art. He was doing Tokyo a damn favor by spray-painting his work over the heinous eyesores, which others his age doodled on any available wall space.

 

To Akihito, it would be better to hand a can of paint to a toddler rather than the try hards that called themselves taggers.

 

His ‘vandalism’ though, people _stopped_ in their cars to take photos of, vibrant murals and landscapes all done with a multiple colored cans of spray paint, it was a vast improvement to their shitty scribbles, yet he still got pinged for it every time, by the police _or_ by the people who’s scrawls he worked over.

 

That’s where the next charges came in, brawling. He always happened to get into scraps with said taggers because they always knew it was him that ‘defiled’ (yeah fucking right) their colorful diarrhea, and street fights always led to the police being called, and then came the inevitable ride in a cop car back to the station for the night.

 

Sure, he would have gone to juvie a few times if his old man hadn’t pulled some strings and got him off, and maybe his grades weren’t that great.

 

And maybe he didn’t care about any of the above except for the fact that council workers always got rid of his passion with plain white paint, only to be littered with shitty ass tagging all over again.

 

Still, given all that, delinquent was taking it a bit too far.

 

He should have felt bad now that he had the label, his family had an image to maintain after all, his old man was a district attorney, his mom, a doctor, they couldn’t have their son ending up in the cells nearly every weekend, not out of concern for him of course, only out of the fact that it interrupted their dodgy as hell work hours which meant he never saw them at all.

 

 

The times his old man picked him up from the station were about the only times he saw his dad, the car ride home possibly the longest time they spent together now also, and only time he saw or spoke to his old lady was when she rung to inform him there was money for take out on the kitchen bench, or when she was patching him up hastily from ‘yet another-when will you learn-fight’. Then she would look at him, give him some _more_ money as if that would fix everything, and leave.

 

And so for that, Akihito didn’t feel one single fucking ounce of remorse. They would do what they did, and he would keep on doing the same thing as well.

 

Akihito wasn’t that dense, his parents didn’t work on the legal side of the fence by any means. The ‘businessman’ that employed them was more than a yakuza for fucks sake, Asami or whatever the hell his name was, he’d heard that name in the cells enough to know that the reason Akihito was allowed to walk was because his old man worked for him.

 

The old lady seemed to be the preferred physician when it came to gun shot wounds and stabbings as well, so it didn’t take long for Akihito as a youngster to put it all together when their front door was knocked down at ungodly hours of the morning all the time by men in suits demanding medical attention.

 

Mom had long since brought a building in Shinjuku to work out of, which is where she spent all her time the moment her son was old enough to make cup ramen.

 

His parents were well-respected members, _cough crooks cough,_ of society, and their son wasn’t exactly their pride and joy.

 

As he got older and moved into senior high school everything got exponentially worse, the only things he wasn’t failing at school were Art, and English.

English because he wanted to get the fuck out of this trap called Tokyo, he wanted to see the globe and all the shades of the ocean and the different greens of open pastures. He wanted to marvel at different architecture and cultures, and immerse himself in the wonders of the world. He wanted to sit down with his easel and brushes, forget everything else, and put it all on canvas. English could help him do all that.

Next was art, because that’s what he liked, no _lived_. That’s what he wanted to do with his life. He loved color, or black and white, he loved photos and manipulating light, he loved it when the spark of inspiration took hold of him and allowed him to create something that was truly his.

 

Akihito cherished art, he loved that he could put something in his mind onto canvas for the world to see and interpret in their own way, everyone would get something out of it, even if it wasn’t the same thing.

Art could incite _feeling_ into people’s day to day life, the city of Tokyo was like a big bees nest of factory workers and salary men, all day, every day, the same.

A nicely placed painting could make spending everyday in an office that much better, a photo could preserve precious memories for eternity, could capture a life changing moment, could tell unspoken truths, and record the passage of time like words couldn’t.

 

An artist could draw or paint a _different_ thing each time, change one thing in a photo, and it would never be the same no matter how hard you tried to replicate it, so yeah, of course he was drawn to art, who wouldn’t be?!

 

When he declared that to his old man at the start of senior year, that’s when the shit it the fan.

 

Art was not a career choice for someone in their family apparently. Blah blah blah. He should have been a doctor like his mother, or a gone into law like his father. Expectations this, expectations that.

 

Get fucked, expectations!

 

According to his dad, it was a choice to be hippy and live in poverty for the rest of his life.

Well, that sounded pretty damn good to Akihito, because to him it translated to: live freely doing whatever the fuck he wanted, not held back by a mortgage or a monotonous everyday job.

 

The more they tried tell him his study path was pointless, the more they disregarded what he actually wanted and shoved brochures for top universities at him, the more angry he became, the more he tried to vent with spray cans and fights, the more he caused trouble for his parents, because it made them look bad, and the cycle repeated, growing in toxicity each time.

The street clashes got vicious as he grew older, broken bones and stitches went with the police bailouts, therapy visits and pent up frustrations.

 

In the end, he started physically fighting with his dad each time he was brought home and locked in his room. Of course the police looked the other way, despite the concerned looks his neighbors gave him on his way to school every morning after a big punch up, no doubt they’d called authorities, to no avail. He didn’t give a toss about that either, it’s not like he couldn’t give as good as he got.

 

After one particular fistfight, coupled with yelling enough for the police to actually come to their high-class street and check, they agreed to a compromise.

 

The young blonde was made to promise to pass _all_ his senior subjects including math, (which Akihito thought would be impossible and his father was just setting him up to fail).

 

He still had to go to university, his old man wasn’t giving in on that, and most of all, he had to keep out of trouble with police the entire last year he lived in their house, and also for the duration of his university studies.

 

His old man was definitely setting him up to fail, he couldn’t go two weeks without some punk picking a fight with him, it’s not like he wanted to fight, the trolls just came to him automatically, so how was he going to go _four fucking years!_

 

The deal was though, that if Akihito passed his high school exams, and behaved for the first year, he could study the art major he wanted to, and his parents would pay for it all.

 

Ok, that was a pretty sweet deal, he thought maybe it would be worth a try.

 

 

His dad’s four-year compromise came into play then, if his son did manage to stick it out for the entire four years, stay out of their hair, and graduate with honors, then Akihito would be given an open plane ticket, an up to date pass port, and an all expenses paid trip around the world.

 

Ok. He was definitely going to fucking do it.

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the lovely Tarantasik for offering to beta for me, and also for being my advisor on all things Russia! :)

* * *

 

 

He did it. Holy shit, he did it.

 

 

Senior year at high school was the hardest, he only got one extra mark needed to pass the Math exam, and that was when all the _actual_ delinquents kept trying to beat the shit out of him, but fuck them, because _he_ did it.

 

After that, he moved out into a crummy little studio with peeling paint that was too yellow to be called white, and obnoxiously creaky floorboards that shrieked even though he wasn’t even fucking stepping anywhere near that particular spot; but it was close to the university, it took him five minutes to get there on foot, so that didn’t leave much time for trouble to find him on the way there or back.

 

He made a couple of straight-laced friends who lived in the same building and studied on the same campus as well: the idealist Kou, who studied IT, and Takato, the sensible one studying Accountancy; hanging out with them practically forced Akihito to be good.

 

The only thing that brought him close to a deal-breaker was his new way of art appreciation.

 

He lived and breathed imagination and creativity so much that he’d had art permanently put on his body in the form of two full-length sleeve tattoos, right from shoulder down to the knuckles of his hands, in traditional Japanese Irezumi style.

 

His right arm featured a twisting red dragon that lent him strength and determination on the days where he was itching for a face to smash or bricks to color on. It coiled from his wrist around the length of his arm, all the way up to the front his shoulder where the head of the beast roared in permanent silence on his skin in defiance of his urges that would piss on everything.

 

His left arm featured a pair of serene koi fish, reds and oranges blending in on their scales, the first koi flowed with the lines of his upper arm, tail starting at the elbow, swimming upward toward his shoulder. The other fish was swimming down from his elbow, molding over the length of his forearm. They brought him resolution and a new sense of clear-headedness that was impossible for the bad tempered person he was in high school; they helped him grow up and mellow out just a _tad,_ because Takaba Akihito would never be considered mellow.

 

Both pieces were tied together with pink sakura blossoms placed tastefully as if floating on top of black and gray clouds flowing over his skin.

 

A large crimson Chrysanthemum took up the entire the space on the backs of each hand, deep in hue with clean lines and solid color, the work impeccable, they finished just above his permanently scarred knuckles.

He was proud of traditional Japanese art, and what better way for him to express his pride than to have the symbol of Japan in plain sight no matter what he wore.

 

He was pushing the boundaries a little bit with his folks with the tattoos, but the pain, the endless droning of the gun, and long hours on the table as the needle drove ink into his skin were all worth it.

 

Once Shige, his tattooist, sat back from his chair and announced it was finished, one year after the first dot for the outline went into his flesh, he felt this sense of completeness.

 

He was an artist in truth, not a punk brat; he was emancipated from all the bad reputations he’d gained as a teen.

 

Who he was on the inside was now reflected on the outside, and it was so much easier to stay out of trouble after that. Instead of painting on brick walls and drawing in wannabe gangsters to brawl with, he could look at the art on his arms, he could sketch on paper, put watercolor on canvas or take meaningless photos that meant _something_ to him, because he was a goddam artist, and he wasn’t too shabby either.

 

 _He_ stayed out of trouble, but it didn’t mean that trouble never came to him, because it did, and often. His rep as a teen rebel might be gone, but his tattoos gave him a new sort of stereotype. Yet another reason to hold on to this deal, so he could get out.

 

He’d gotten into shit a few times in town when he went out drinking because of his body art, people sometimes mistook him for yakuza, and he’d often been chased out of certain districts because they thought he was from a rival clan. He was pretty fit as a result and knew the places he could and couldn’t go to, not that it ever stopped him.

 

One time, at the start of his last year at university, he managed to take a wrong turn and get himself caught, and dragged back to a clan head, Yoshio Tsunoda, who laughed at the thought of the blonde posing any threat to them. He then sat Akihito down and they got drunk on sakè while talking about various styles of Japanese art and tattoos, from Hannya masks and samurai to three legged crows and Tengu of the ancient forests.

 

In the end, he even designed a back piece for the Yoshio of the Inagawa group, which Akihito learned was the third largest yakuza family in Japan.

He cut it pretty fucking close alright, lucky the old bugger saw what his underlings didn’t, a stubborn young man with the knack for getting in the shit, not anyone dangerous, because forget about his overseas trip if the man thought otherwise he’d be sunk to the depths of Tokyo Bay instead.

 

 

The rest of his studies flew by after the tattoos were finished; he did his best to buckle down. Three years of post high school study was a long time, but a chance to see the world, to get out and travel and appreciate everything he desired was worth many more years than that. He was constantly online, looking for places to go and things he wanted to see, the list got bigger and bigger each day.

 

He stuck to his assignments, had a few boyfriends and girlfriends here and there, failed epically at the attempted relationships because he had no clue what he was doing really, attended all his lectures, he even commissioned a few pieces between semesters and made some money for himself, and finally before his 23rd birthday, graduated a Bachelor of Art with honors, he minored in English studies.

 

 

He was faced with a choice after gradation; leave Japan right away, or take up a job offer he was given; a short-term commission project that would last him until the end of July, the irony was though, that he was being commissioned to _fucking_ spray paint murals of Japanese folktales in a popular gallery that had displayed some pretty big names. People knew about his talent with spray cans it seemed, and they offered him an entire wall from top to bottom, corner to corner of clean white paint that hadn’t been tainted, and he couldn’t resist.

 

At the beginning of August, his exhibit was put on display and it was announced it would be a permanent change to the walls of the gallery; his work was going to be there forever.

 

That itself was worth hanging around in Tokyo for the extra months.

 

Now though, that glorious plane ticket that was in his hands, along with the chrysanthemum emblazoned booklet that would get him out of this country and closer to his dreams.

 

The old man kept his end of the bargain, and right now you couldn’t wipe the smile off of Takaba Akihito’s face with a sledgehammer.

 

The reigns were finally coming off after four _long_ years. He was almost, _almost,_ tempted to do one last graffiti mural down an alley, or he could pick a fight with all the pricks that still plagued him from high school, but there would be no point in that.

He’d made something of himself. He was actually allowed to express himself properly, legitimately, not illegally on a brick wall at midnight, or with his fists. There was no need for that shit now.

 

He was at the international terminal of the airport, his flight due to leave in an hour, his first destination, an artists’ treasure trove, St Petersburg, Russia.

 

Paris, Venice or Berlin, he could have gone to any of those places, and he would eventually, but the soonest flight out after his commison project ended was to St Petersburg, so he picked that the moment he had the money from it in his hand.

 

In an awkward silence where words should be said, but no one could bring themselves to say them, so everyone present averted their eyes instead, he shook his father’s hand, the first physical contact they’d had in years that didn’t end in conflict. He still hand the instinct to shy away, a flinch from a blow that wouldn’t come this time.

 

 

Their hands were stiff, unfamiliar in each others grip, the handshake of acquaintances more than family. He noted with no surprise that his old man didn’t have his wedding band on, and then he looked over to his mom, she didn’t either. It’d been like that since he was old enough to remember.

 

Being in each other’s company wasn’t like pins and needles anymore like it used to be. That’s about as far as their family dynamic would ever go, and that was all good with him, because he had the plane ticket, his passport, a camera bag strapped over one shoulder, and a backpack with a sketch book, charcoals, oil pastels and travel guides in it over the other, his other luggage he’d already checked in.

 

 

The humdrum of the busy terminal continued around the small pocket of obstinate silence, a man in a suit ran with his briefcase flailing as he tried not to be late for his flight, a family huddled together crying as one of their children left for an obviously long time, one man sat and looked at his watch every five minutes while he read the finance section of today’s paper, and a couple kissed intimately in the corner on their way to their honeymoon.

 

His flight was called, he was already picking his things up from the floor before the announcement finished, and his parents were already standing up to leave.

 

“If you get in trouble overseas, you’re on your own.” Takaba senior said as a statement, he still didn’t fucking know how to talk to his own son.

“Yeah.” Akihito shrugged it off, not like he’d expect help now that his parents weren’t legally responsible for him anyway. “Catch ya later, mom, dad.”

 

He walked away without a backwards glance, disappearing from his parents’ sight as the crowds of the airport enveloped him.

 

 

* * *

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks to Tarantasik for editing, and all the tidbits of information about St Petersburg, I think I want to go there now!
> 
> The response for this has been surprisingly good, thank you, everyone!

* * *

 

 

 

_-Bing bong._

_“Attention passengers, we are descending to land in St Petersburg in approximately 10 minutes, there is a light easterly wind, and the sky is clear, the captain predicts a smooth landing.”_

_“Please fasten your seatbelts and put your sets up in any case, and have your passport ready for security. We hope you enjoyed your flight with Air Asia, and that your stay in St Petersburg is memorable. Local time is 3:30 am, please don’t forget to set your devices to the correct time.”_

The service announcement roused Akihito from his uncomfortable, cramped with a sore neck sleep in economy class. He blinked his bleary eyes as the ‘fasten seatbelt’ sign lit up on the display in front of him.

Fuck. He fell asleep on the twelve-hour flight. Now his sense of time was going to be all out of whack. He tried to keep himself awake with inflight movies and games but to no avail. Twelve hours was a long fucking time to sit down without falling asleep.

It wasn’t like he could chat to the person sitting next to him either, who was sitting in the aisle seat, while Akihito got the window seat - yeah, suck on that, snobby bastard.

 

The man in his suit that looked half the price of the Armani ones his old man wore took one look at him - with his dyed blonde hair, headphones about his neck, ripped-up jeans paired with leather chucks and tight-fitted hoodie - and snubbed him right off the damn bat.

The beady-eyed cheap suited fucker didn’t even bother to say hello when Akihito gave him a genuine smile and greeting.

Be like that, then!

It was hella funny watching the man from the corner of his eye stiffen when Akihito’s tattooed hand went across his face to take food from the flight attendant though. The arrogant cold shoulder changed to a respectful cold shoulder after that. Sometimes, it wasn’t so bad when people thought he was associated with organized crime.

 

The service announcement came over in English then, which Akihito understood with a self-satisfied – because he did it - ease, and then in Russian, which he didn’t understand a word of. Frankly, he didn’t want to because he was sure if he even attempted to speak the harsh language, he’d rip his voice box to shreds and never talk again, even if he thought that it sounded cool and at the same time intimidating.

 

 

 

Ignoring all that though, because he shouldn’t be thinking about such dull shit when he was ten minutes away from starting his epic journey across the world, he turned to survey the view out the small window as the plane coasted down towards the second largest city in Russia.

 

It felt as if he’d been given a good punch in the sternum and he needed to concentrate to breathe. Beautiful was such a dumb word for a man to use; in fact, it was a dumb word for an artist to use too.

 

St Petersburg, Sankt-Peterburg, Leningrad, Piter, the city before him was called many different names depending on what generation you were from, but all he’d call it right now was beautiful.

 

At half past three in the morning, the entire world beneath him was bathed in ethereal twilight, nights at this time of year in the northern hemisphere didn’t get to reach the shade of midnight, and for that his breath was taken faster than a pick pocket in the red-light districts of home could do the job.

 

Hues of purple and blue streaked the skyline, and the land mass was speckled with thousands of different colored lights, twinkling like diamonds scattered across a dusk colored blanket.

 

He could see veins of the city, glimmering highways in straight lines with moving vehicles pumping up and down in tiny specks of light, as if the city was alive.

 

A cluster of brilliance pulsed at its heart, the epicenter of the city was at the shoreline, next to the Gulf of Finland and the Neva River, which ran through St Petersburg and branched off in canals and channels, which were an artistic dream to sit and paint.

 

He’d researched it all, and now it was right in front of him, he hadn’t even touched down yet, and it was better than anything he could ever have hoped for.

 

He was beginning to get that feeling, that spark that formed before inspiration hit him full force and it turned him into a mindless creature whose only instinct was to put his tools to work and create something beautiful.

His fingers began to itch in anticipation to pick up his brush, or a pencil, or charcoal or _anything_ so that he could render the sight before him on canvas and preserve this memory for life, because it was something he never wanted to forget.

 

He wasn’t much of a believer in fate, or destiny or any of that shoujou manga bullshit, especially when it came to his life, but he had this indescribable feeling, it almost made him uneasy, telling him that St Petersburg was going to be special.

 

 

*****

 

 

 

The ting of the café doorbell was a sharp cry against the muffled street noises that his jet-lagged brain was trying to tune out. A coffee, his _first_ coffee outside of Japan was placed on the table in front of him, the aroma of caffeine potent in his nostrils this early in the morning, too early for someone who’d been a student months ago to be up at, but here he bloody was.

 

He was sitting outside a hipster café in a trendy part of the city where clubs and cafés lined the paved roads, colorful art hanging on the walls inside at odd angles and varying heights, it gave an odd sentiment to each piece, they all fit on the wall like they belonged on their skewed axis of the world.

 

He couldn’t help but notice that as the barista, who spoke thick English, put his coffee down he admired the lengths of his tattooed arms. Since he was only wearing a T-shirt today, his body art would be seen differently in a place like St Petersburg, and he was proud of the crimson flowers that represented Japan on the backs of each hand.

 

On the walls outside, in the air that was much fresher than that of carbon-tainted Tokyo, there were band posters and exhibition promotions layered on top of one another so much you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. Loose corners flapped on the wall as small gusts of what smelt like freedom swept through the city.

It looked so much better than the unskilled streaks of paint that decorated the memories of his teenage years.

 

There was so much _color_ in St Petersburg, but the only color he could conjure in his head right now though, was melancholy grey.

 

He wanted to see the color, he wanted to get up and explore, go to the Hermitage and spend hours looking at the perfection of one brush stroke on a painting that was older than he was five times over.

 

He longed to sit on grass that would probably be soft enough to sleep on in front of the Kazan Cathedral and stare at the sky with just a pencil and a sketchbook for company, because no one would pick fights with him here, he didn’t have to worry about looking over his shoulder.

 

His mind could comprehend all the brilliance, but fucking jetlag was raining Satan’s piss on any urge he had right now. As he saw it now, through tired, messed up sleep pattern lenses, everything was a blur of city overcast, harsh stone, slate pavement and dull colored clouds that hogged his thoughts. He didn’t much like the color grey, in his art or in his head, but he shrugged it off, the caffeine was helping, and he knew a day’s rest wouldn’t hurt despite how he wanted to do and see everything right now at this instant, more like five minute ago, if he weren’t so tired he would have been fidgeting with anticipation.

 

There was no set time limit on anything though, the credit card in his pocket would have its amount renewed each month for as many months as he stayed away, all he had to do was stay under the limit. He relaxed then, and really savored the taste of his coffee as he sat back and watched people go about their lives in this country that was so different to home it almost seemed like another planet. No one seemed as rushed, as desperate to get to wherever it was they were going, the traffic was mental, but slightly less mental than the hectic streets of Tokyo.

 

This was only the tip of the iceberg; he hadn’t even been in St Petersburg for half a day, and his system was lagging as bad as a shitty LAN connection when playing online, but fuck, it felt good to be here.

 

He sighed, trying to ease the grey in his head, and leant back in his chair with the cup cradled in his hands, ah, shit, even with the triple shot cappuccino in his hands he was getting sleepy, and he really shouldn’t. He had to wait until nighttime, or he’d never get his head in the right fucking time-zone.

 

Another gulp of coffee went down, and he watched over the rim of his cup as a polished black Hummer pulled up to the curb in front of the café, what a sick ride, there weren’t many Hummers in Tokyo. He looked at the car for a few moments, noting how it looked pretty badass with its tinted windows and huge ass tires that looked suited for all terrain, as a Hummer should be, before deciding he’d had enough and turning away -

 

\- Well, he was _going_ to turn away, but then someone got out from the driver’s door, and for the second fucking time in as many days he felt like he was having another goddam shouju manga moment. What in the actual fuck…

 

This man stepping out of the Hummer was like, if Russia were a person, this man would be him.

 

He was built tall and strong, an immense presence that matched the country’s status; he overwhelmed you just by _existing_. He was dignified, proud and Akihito could tell he was well respected just by looking at him. Who wouldn’t respect those long legs and that powerful broad chest that commanded the very air he breathed?

At the same time though he was beautiful, as beautiful as the view of St Petersburg from the plane, like the city, he was bright, refined and colorful, as if the city took its feel from this very person.

 

But like Russia also, Akihito could sense a wilderness at his core, a Siberian blizzard in the depths of winter; there was something cold, dark and unforgiving about him, hidden underneath it all. People would rather avoid a person like him -too different, too strong, too dangerous. Misunderstood. Out of anyone’s reach.

 

Minutes, or hours felt they’d passed, but it’d only been the space of about forty-five seconds, he _could_ look for hours though.

 

He snapped out of artistic mode to make himself stop gaping, he’d actually just done the full fucking art appreciation stare on the man as if he were a masterpiece, and he didn’t think he would be able to function if the man caught Akihito looking at him. The thought alone made him want to melt into a puddle on the pavement.

 

Well, he was a masterpiece, a seriously hot, blond-haired, well-muscled masterpiece of ass. He wanted to keep looking, wanted him to get closer so he could see his eyes, his face, see the curve of his lip, and the plains of his neck that tapered down to his chest, but he couldn’t keep staring, if the man were to look at him, he’d self-combust.

This wasn’t a goddam shouju manga though, and this man _definitely_ wouldn’t look at him, so he’d risk it, he was a fucking daredevil, yeah!

He snickered to himself though, as he pictured himself saying ‘notice me sempai’. He was done for.

 

Another man got out of the passenger seat then, he was older, held himself with the same dignity and his blonde slick hair had silver at the temples of his stoic face, showing his age and life experience. The older man kept the man-masterpiece’s attention by talking to him, and Akihito tried to play it cool and make it look like he wasn’t gawking directly at him like some feverish zombie-looking stalker. Instead he looked from the corner of his eye as the pair walked by him and into the café he’d just ordered coffee from.

_Real smooth, Akihito._

 

Then, he saw them. His eyes.

 

He saw them as the man turned and locked his Hummer with the remote on his keys, and then he couldn’t breathe, or function, this was it. He was dead, definitely dead. This couldn’t be real life, people didn’t react like that to other people in real life.

 

He retracted his earlier moronic opinion about not liking the color grey.

 

Because his eyes were grey. Mercurial grey; ever changing and unpredictable, they gleaned like gunmetal when his eyes caught the sun overhead as the man turned back and entered the shop, Akihito’s breath caught at the same damn time.

 

This man went with the color grey in his head perfectly, bringing his jetlagged brain to life, and he decided that maybe grey was actually probably his favorite color now. Grey could be light and gentle, or dark and harsh, and everything in between, it all just depended on how hard you pushed the lead of the pencil against the paper.

 

At the thought of a pencil and paper, his fingers began to itch, he was going to be inundated with the motivation to create soon, fuck the jetlag - he was in art mode now! This would normally be the time he’d go out and spray-paint somewhere when he was a teen, and now he was practically vibrating with the urge to get this image of the Russian man on paper, on _something_!

 

Searching through his satchel at his feet under the table, full of travel books and his most valuable things, like his passport and credit card, his fingers found the side-pocket where he kept a supply of pencils just in case this ever happened to him while he was out.

 

Just like now.

 

He found a soft-lead pencil that could do the exact things he said, shade soft gentle grey, or deep, almost black shades and every shadow in the middle.

 

Dammit though, he didn’t bring his sketchbook! He’d been adamant he was just coming out for coffee before going back to his hotel room to get it, of course he hadn’t expected inspiration to hit him like a knife to the gut a few corners from where he was staying.

 

Another small flurry of wind swept by him then, and the napkin on his table fluttered, as if calling out to him, it was a thick napkin with the café’s name printed in the corner; he only knew that because the glyph-like writing on the shop sign was the same.

 

It wasn’t one of those napkins made up of three thin layers of tissue, but one big fast soft layer that could wipe your mouth without tearing, or mop up a mess on the table, or be perfect enough to sketch on in an emergency.

 

This was an emergency.

 

His coffee went cold as he put the pencil to the napkin and began to draw.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Tarantasik once again, for the editing :)

So the saying goes, ‘Ain’t no rest for the wicked.’ But Mikhail was still fucking deadbeat tired.

 

He’d spent all night in grey ol’ Moscow, negotiating with the tight-ass Swiss on a joint route which would help expand both their syndicates, and rather than spend one extra minute in the central hub of Russia, with its corporate assholes and conceited wannabes that were forever trying to get on Mikhail’s good side, he’d simply gotten the fuck out of there and taken his jet right on the short flight back to St Petersburg,where there was a little bit more goddam breathing room.

 

St Petersburg was Mikhail’s home, even though he operated out of Moscow. As close to a home as he could manage, anyway.

 

His Renaissance-style apartment overlooked the canals, dubbed the ‘Venice of the North’ with their cobblestone walkways that were slick on a wet day and old stone bridges with resilient green moss creeping up the sides, connected the small channels of water. It was like stepping back in time, and the view from his top-floor apartment never got old to wake up to in the mornings - the nights he actually went to sleep, that is.

 

This city: with its eccentric vibe, pumping clubs, one-night stands, and amazing coffee which cured any hangover, along with bustling tourists or exchange students - who had no fucking idea who he was, - traditional buildings, Baroque architecture and laid-back locals, was his one dose of normality in his high-profile existence.

 

A nice fucking change of pace compared to the pretentious politicians, overambitious associates, and men and women desperate for power and status that was found in Moscow.

 

A man could only take that bullshit for so long before he just killed the first dumb fuck that crossed the line on a bad day.

 

Then again, it never hurt to make an example of someone. He wasn’t opposed to using death, carnage and violence as tools to set himself apart and make people realize he was the only person fit to lead.

 

It was better that way.

 

What was even fucking better than that right now, though, was the warm morning sun of St Petersburg through the open roof of his Hummer as he parked outside his favorite coffee shop to get a much-needed caffeine hit. Fuck those dreary bullshit thoughts – Moscow always made him feel that way.

Even in St Petersburg though, he still felt eyes on him, just like he did now as he stepped down from his Hummer and conferred with Yuri about today’s order of business on his way to the door of the quirky little café, with its crooked art and mismatched pieces of eighteenth-century style furniture.

 

Just another day in the life of Mikhail Arbatov. He ignored that itching feeling that told him someone was watching him and felt his mood pick up as the doorbell chirped its colorful greeting to him when he walked in the shop, which smelt like freshly roasted coffee beans and sweet breakfast pastries.

 

Shit, it was good to be back.

 

The barista that made his coffee nearly every morning when he was in St Petersburg didn’t seem to be paying much attention to people walking in the door however. He was staring out the window, looking like a love-struck puppy on cloud fucking nine at something outside.

“Oi, Viktor!” Mikhail roused the man from his daydream. “What’s got you lookin’ like a blissed-out teenage girl, eh?”

 

The man, Viktor, startled to see their most important customer smirking at him over the counter; he began sputtering out apologies before Mikhail quieted him with a blasé flick of his wrist.

 

“The usual, sirs?” the ash-haired barista asked once the matter was cleared. He received two quick nods, one from Mikhail, one from the man that was always with him, Yuri, before he began to make coffee and answer Mikhail’s original question - you _always_ answered Mikhail Arbatov’s questions.

 

“There is a new customer outside, from Japan, he’s really….” Viktor trailed off, and Mikhail got the picture.

 

“Oh!” he chuckled at the thought that the barista was crushing on some newbie tourist, “you want to bang his brains out.” The mafia leader snickered as a massive blush spread over the man’s cheeks. His crude sense of humor wasn’t for everyone, but he loved messing with people and pushing their buttons more than anything, and Viktor was too fucking easy.

 

Yuri just sighed. Bless the old bastard, he was the only one who could tolerate Mikhail’s company for more than twenty-four goddam hours at a time, and Yuri was the only person who Mikhail _would_ have in his company for any longer than that. Sure, he was close with his other subordinates, but they also all knew their place.

 

Curious though, Mikhail turned to see what the fuss was all about. He saw a mop of unruly blonde hair that shone like threads of silver in the morning sun, sticking out at all angles in defiance of the fresh breeze that wanted nothing more than to whip that nest of hair in a uniform direction.

 

The lithe frame was showcased in tight black t-shirt, the fabric that hugged his torso and arms snugly exhibited his lightly muscled form, and a pair of shredded denim jeans tapered the long legs stretched out underneath the table.

 

What really stood out though, like a splash of color on a rainy winter’s day or a vibrant piece of art on the white paint of a gallery wall, was the coiled red scales he could see slithering up his right arm that was facing the window.

The ink creature disappeared up under the hem of the sleeve and out of sight to finish who knows where on that body. Soft pink blossoms caressed the ruby red scales, and flowing shades of grey brought the fore colors to life on that smooth skin.

 

Well, that was interesting! Mikhail highly doubted any Yakuza who was high up enough to have that many tattoos would be so thick-headed as to come onto his turf without an instant death wish.

 

“He speaks English, eh? You get to chat with him some, Viktor?” Mikhail asked absentmindedly as their take-away coffees were handed over. They smelt so damn good; nothing could clear the scent of blood from your nose like a strong coffee.

 

Mikhail couldn’t see much of his face; the blondie was leaning over the table and looked to be in a world of his own as he concentrated all his attention on - what exactly was he fucking doing?

 

“Yes, sir,” Mikhail sighed at the formal tone _everyone_ addressed him with, before the barista continued, “it’s his first day here from Tokyo. He looked pretty beat from his flight so I gave him an extra shot of coffee, looks like it woke him up some.”

 

And it did. Mikhail said his thanks and headed for the door with Yuri on his heels, looking out the window as the messy blond gave all his attention to something on the table, hiding from view as his bangs draped over his face.

 

When Mikhail made it to the door with his first sip of coffee traveling down and making him feel significantly less irritable, he got a clean view through the window at what the Japanese was doing, as well as the rest of the ink gracing his other arm and his hands.

 

One deft hand, gripping a pencil expertly as if it were precious, was a blur of a crimson flower as it moved with intensity and purpose over a napkin on the table. The other hand, covered in the same red flower, was holding the napkin still - fingers splayed out over the table - and only gently pushing down on the edges of the makeshift canvas.

 

Fuck it all, Mikhail was intrigued now, despite his full schedule, lack of sleep and his general attitude of not giving a fuck about some random tourist who the fucking barista thought was hot for sucks sake. He wanted to know what crazy tattooed bastard in their right mind would be up at this hour at a café on their first fucking day in the country, drawing on a goddam napkin of all things.

 

And, more than anything, he wanted to know what was _on_ that napkin. He wasn’t close enough to see, but the way that pencil stroked the tissue paper, that delicate flick of his wrist, his posture as his body protected the napkin from flying away in the breeze. This person _was_ in a world of his own, and the only thing that mattered was the shades of grey on that napkin that the Russian couldn’t quite make out.

 

Eh. Why not? He was Mikhail fucking Arbatov. What would it matter if he was late to a meeting, or if he didn’t show up at all? No one would complain, let alone question it, so he was going on a detour to that table on his way to the Hummer, he decided.

Detours were so fun, he loved unexpected things, and they always pissed Yuri off, so that was double the fun.

 

The bell trilled as he pushed the coffee shop door open.

 

*****

 

In some far corner of Akihito’s inspiration-struck, jet-lagged but not tired, because the caffeine was working brain, he should have registered the cheery ting of the door bell as Mr Russia and his friend came back out. But because he was too intent on said person coming to life on his napkin, he may as well have been completely fucking deaf.

 

The portrait of the man’s head and shoulders was only the size of his palm, big enough for him to get some finer details in - soft rolling shades of grey streaked his sketched hair in handsome charm, gentle contours articulated a slight curl to his lip, leaving the viewer guessing if it would turn into a dangerous snarl or a playful smirk.

 

Etched lines of lead defined his straight powerful jawline with an upward tilt to his chin that whispered authority and domination, the way he darkened the plains of his neck shadowed an attitude that would take no nonsense.

 

Rough heavy lines captured the angle of his built shoulders: not too steep and not too flat, the shoulders of someone immense, commanding and influential, but still Akihito managed to feel like he’d captured that invisible slump which suggested a hue of loneliness. There was a lot to be said, by looking at the angle of a man’s shoulders, Akihito always thought.

 

What he was most pleased about, though, was those eyes - he definitely liked the color grey now. For something drawn on a fucking napkin with a zombie controlling his limbs, this was pretty damn good, all because of those eyes. He’d managed to get the lead to shine, to glean like a soft lead did when you layered over one spot and built up the shading.

 

Vivid all-knowing eyes looked into the distance behind Akihito’s shoulder; and with the morning sun shining down on this napkin the eyes shimmered, dancing in the sun as if the man were up to some sort of mischief, but if he hid the napkin from the light source and placed it in shadow, those eyes turned dark, serious and foreboding as the color grey took on endless depth.

 

He never thought he could do so much with the grey, but as it turns out it was the only pigment needed to render this man.

 

Akihito would never have imagined that the _first_ thing he fucking drew in his once in a life time trip around the globe, would be a picture of some random man on a fancy napkin outside a coffee shop.

His first photo better be of something meaningful to make up for this… whatever it was.

 

It could have been _anything_ : an historic building with worn brickwork and marble colonnades; a cathedral with its grand spires and stain-glass windows; the view from the plane last night with its pulsing lights and glowing veins. But no. He was swooning, that’s right, _swooning_ on some blonde bombshell who was probably a fucking model, or a celebrity, or the definition of drop-dead gorgeous. No matter what he was, he was so fucking far out of his league it was laughable that he was drawing a goddam picture of him.

 

This man was probably in his own league, and the only way to get there would be for the man to _invite_ you all the way up to his fucking penthouse or whatever.

 

And here he was being a total creeper and drawing him like some obsessed stalker, if he breathed deeply and hunched over it would totally complete the look.

 

“Oi! What’s that you’re working on there, mm?” quizzed an interested voice in deep English with a rough accent that grated all the way down to his bones, snapping him out of art mode with a jolt of his limbs.

 

Snapping his head up he saw Mr Russia heading over to his table from the door, and oh my fucking god he was _looking_ at Akihito and it was almost too much to bear, looking at him, into him, _through him._

 

The thick grease of exhaustion and fatigue chose that exact moment to seize all his coherent thought processes, a big fat ‘fuck you’ from the gods of embarrassment and shame, because he was forced to watch, as if he were trapped in his own goddam body and rendered inert, as yet another light gust picked his napkin up, and _literally_ carried said napkin off the table in Mr Russia’s direction.

 

He flailed after it like a moron though, grabbing at empty air; that moment of travel-induced catatonia doomed him. The napkin fluttered like a happy fucking gay butterfly all the way to the man’s feet.

 

Fuck you, you traitorous napkin!

 

Forget about self-combusting under the man’s scrutiny, something much worse was happening to him right now. Mr Russia bent with the languid grace of someone who could utilize every muscle in his body, and plucked the napkin from the paved sidewalk between thumb and forefinger that had a large gold ring on it, it flashed under the sunlight in mockery of his situation.

 

It was like pouring gasoline all over Akihito’s humanity. The man flattened the napkin out in his calloused hand, and even now, as he wanted to bury himself, Akihito couldn’t help but notice those hands - large, clean, the nails trimmed and neat, with hardened fingers that looked like they knew hard work, but then the man looked down at his likeness on the napkin.

 

Fuck this, he couldn’t wait to self-combust, he was going to set himself on fire instead.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikhail is a big cute dork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is about the time where I put the note in, that this will probably be the fluffiest, most dorkish-ly cute VF fan fiction I will ever write, slow build style. I am excite XD 
> 
> Wishing my beta Tarantasik the best with her university exams, this chapter is not edited since her study is more important. Good luck, my dear! xo

 

* * *

 

A light wind rinsed through his hair as Mikhail stood on the sidewalk, frozen in place as he stared back at himself. The sun peeked through the clouds as the world passed overhead, and he saw his drawn expression change as sunlight bathed the white napkin.

 

He didn’t have time to comprehend his sunlight expression because the sun made its departure as quickly as it’d come behind a wispy cloud, he saw his illustrated self change again, and he was left feeling transparent as the corner of the canvas napkin fluttered against his palm.

 

His eyes that looked back at him which were glimmering silvery orbs seconds ago, were now slate and serious, more like the man everyone thought he was, the man he had to act like in order to _be_ who he was.

 

That’s not what Mikhail saw though, he saw the shadows on his neck darken, and his shoulders take on a tint of solitude as the portrait lost its glow, an accurate shade of his state of mind.

 

It almost felt as if this person _knew_ him, knew Mikhail Arbatov, not the leader of the Russian mafia.

 

He couldn’t have though, because if it were his true image, this napkin would be darkened as cinereous as his personality, but the strong chisel of his jaw, the contour of his lip that looked drawn with surprising softness, and the sharp cheekbones that emphasized his well meaning expression despite the iron gaze, told him that the person that drew this didn’t see him that way at all.

 

The sun danced through the clouds once more, and he saw his likeness in a new light, in the sun he looked…. He didn’t even know.

 

The person that drew this clearly had no fucking idea who he was, because in this tiny napkin drawing; despite that moment of cloud induced darkness, he looked heroic, with an air of grandeur that lifted the hue of his broad shoulders and raised chin, he looked respectable and trust worthy, friendly with eyes that burnished and lips that smirked.

All those things Mikhail Arbatov was definitely not.

 

It was an interesting way to see himself, and he didn’t mind the image at all.

 

This is what he looked like to someone who didn’t know how much wealth he had, how many clubs he owned, how many cars were parked at his residence, or about how many people he wanted to kill and how many people wanted to kill him in turn.

 

The one thing that this person _did_ know though, was that they found Mikhail attractive, you didn’t draw a work of art such as this if you didn’t find the subject appealing.

 

Well then, his little detour had been well worth it for the napkin in his hand.

Folding the napkin carefully; he let out a chuckle as he pocketed it in the inside of his leather jacket, and finally looked up to the artist in question.

 

Two hands with an ink crimson chrysanthemums on each were plastered across the strangers face in embarrassment, and as he stepped closer and took the seat on the other side of the blonde’s table with an obnoxious scrape of chair legs, Mikhail noticed the silvery scars of someone who’d been in one too many fists fights distinguishing his knuckles.

 

Tattoos bordering on suspicious, fighting scars, and a tenancy to draw men he found attractive on napkins and then be ashamed of said drawing despite the clear talent illuminated by it, what an odd fucking person.

 

Mikhail liked odd. 

 

He couldn’t resist, his appointments could wait for the day. Sorry, Yuri. Not!

 

“So” he rumbled intentionally deep, his accent thick, “don’t you think it’s rude to draw someone without their permission, hm?”

 

A weary groan came out muffled from underneath those ink-adorned hands that had yet to reveal a face, another small gust ruffled that sleep skewed hair and a car whooshed past the coffee shop in a hiss of sound. The slight figure took a breath and released it, before the colorful arms holding up those hands finally lowered the tattooed wall covering bed head’s face.

 

Oh, woah! This guy. No wonder Viktor was staring at him.

 

Intense hazel eyes full of fire met his, unflinching and willful despite the apologetic tone of his gaze. Not even his silver bangs tumbling in front of those lenses could diminish the passion that lurked beneath his mortification.

 

A nose that looked surprisingly like it hadn’t been broken before, and high cheekbones accentuated his Japanese heritage, his skin was flawless and pale, all the way down to his narrow jaw and soft chin.

 

Well, it would have been flawless and pale if it weren’t for the blush dusting his cheeks. Not an artist on the planet could capture that adorable shade of pink marking his rosy expression.

 

Seriously, tattoos, scars and defiant eyes, yet this guy was blushing.

 

Holy shit, it was too fucking cute.

 

A nervous laugh erupted, and a shy hand pulled that blonde hair back away from his eyes, Mikhail drunk in the way his muscles moved beneath his skin, making the Koi fish on his forearm flex as if it were swimming.

“Haha, it wouldn’t have been rude if I didn’t get caught though, sorry to bother you.” at the last, he dipped his head in apology.

 

Cheeky, yet honest as well. He really was an intriguing one.

 

“Where are you going?” the mafia leader asked quizzically as the lithe frame made to get up with his satchel from under the table. This guy obviously thought Mikhail was banging, but here he was trying to take off without even so much as talking to him. Who fucking does that?

 

The smaller blonde froze half way up from his seat, looking sheepish “Ummm…” there was that blush again. This guy was even easier than Viktor.

 

Mikhail let out another chuckle of his own as a fan-fucking-tastic idea blossomed, Yuri was going to be pissed. Mikhail he didn’t care, he wasn’t going to let this much fun escape that easy, especially since this was the person who drew him in a way that spoke of fascination and admiration, he wouldn’t mind being looked at like that more often.

 

“Sorry isn’t good enough, so how about I show you around Piter for the day and you can make it up to me that way, mm?” He cocked his head as it rested in his hand, and watched the play of emotions over the young man’s face.

 

So fucking cute.

 

****

 

Akihito stood dumbstruck, was this guy fucking serious?

He looked busy, and important, of course he wasn’t serious, because he was looking at Akihito with a smirk on his lip and a glean in his eye that screamed mockery.

 

Who’d want to show a guy like him around, who’d just creepily drawn the dudes face on a fucking café napkin? He looked sleep depraved and impoverished compared to Mr Russia, he wouldn’t even want to be seen with Akihito, of course he was fucking messing with him.

 

Akihito seriously just wanted to run back to the hotel as fast as he could and wallow in his shame for the next century, but fuck that shit, he still had his pride, as much pride as you could have in front of a man like Mr Russia anyway.

“Um, thanks for the offer, but I left some things back at the hotel which I need.” His reply was steady and polite, take that!

“Haha, that’s okay!” The man laughed, and holy shit it was so charming, Akihito was so fucking doomed. He always thought he liked women more than men, but nope. Not anymore. He was so hopeless when it came to relationships, but he was even more hopeless when it came to trying not to seem like an awkward dork in front of this seriously hot guy.

“We’ll go and pick them up.” The man stood and towered over him with a twinkle in his grey eyes and a smile on his lips, and Akihito couldn’t protest any further.

The other man that’d been watching the entire exchange just looked exasperated as Mr Russia beckoned Akihito towards the Hummer, and said something to him in rough Russian, after that Mr Russia’s friend just walked off down the street with a phone at his ear and not even a second glance.

 

Fuck, this guy was _actually_ serious.

 

“What’s your name?” came the question as the Hummer pulled away from the curb, yes, he was in the fucking car with this guy, but too afraid to put his hands anywhere in case he dirtied the interior or broke something which he couldn’t pay for, so they were resting in his lap.

“Takaba Akihito, - Ah, it’s that one just there.” He pointed the building out that he was staying in, since he had no idea how to read, let alone say its name for the man to know which one it was.

“Hmmm, Takaba Akihito.” The man rolled the syllables around on his tongue as they entered the building, “Your first name is Akihito, yes? Can I call you that?”

 

 

****

 

The blonde, whose name was Takaba Akihito, gave a self-conscious shrug at his question, his earlier embarrassment over the sketch dissipating somewhat, “If you want to…. Um, so what’s your name then?” came the tentative question.

“Just call me Mikhail.” He left out his last name, the name that was connected with his family’s political ties and with him, that would only destroy the image of the Mikhail on the napkin.

 

He laughed outright as Akihito tested the sound of his name on his tongue, sounding unsure, and the blonde just huffed at him with a pout on his lips and a blush on his cheeks when Mikhail tried helping him with the pronunciation in the elevator up to his room. What a stubborn, cute little punk.

 

This was a good fucking detour alright.

 

The mafia leader was forced to stand outside the hallway and wait as Akihito quickly dashed into his room, practically slamming the wooden door with the gold numbers ‘25’ in his face with an awkward utterance of; ‘I won’t be long’. He was like a kid who had a messy room that he didn’t want his crush to see. This tattooed little fucker was so adorable, he wanted to push his buttons all damn day. He decided he would do just that. Nothing like a bit of blushing entertainment on an impromptu day off!

 

Soon enough, Akihito grabbed a sketchbook and camera and they were back in the elevator, Mikhail leaned in intentionally close as he pushed the button for the ground floor before Akihito could.

 

The moment seemed to slow, and Mikhail was tempted to push the emergency stop button actually, to see what the blonde’s reaction would be then, but instead his index finger zoomed in on the silver, circular button and brushed away Akihito’s hand in the process. Of course, he made the way he stood at his shoulder, with his warm breath on Akihito’s neck and one hand on the small of his back seem like a complete accident. Of course he made the way he boxed Akihito into the corner of the sterile lift and stand there a little longer than protocol dictates seem pure fucking coincidence.

 

Mikhail celebrated internally as he heard the artist’s breath stutter, and he smirked down at Akihito as he stepped back without a word, watching the blonde trying to regain his composure. Oh yes, this one was absolutely bloody hopeless around him. So fun.

 

A few silent minutes later they were in Mikhail’s Hummer, driving around the streets of St Petersburg.

 

First, he took him to the square in front of St Isaac’s cathedral, the drive quiet as Akihito simply stared out the window with eyes that drunk in all the images of a city foreign to his. The blushing Japanese was left in the elevator, and Mikhail saw hazel fire burnish in those eyes as a confident artist took over.

He watched Akihito start fidgeting with his tattooed hands, clenching his scarred fists, and then mimic the action of holding a pen, or stroking a brush, charming miniscule movements that the blonde probably wasn’t even aware he was doing as he day dreamed out the car window.

It was so fucking endearing; Mikhail wanted to know if that’s what Akihito was like when he was sketching on the napkin outside the coffee shop. He could watch this creature all damn day.

 

Mikhail thought Akihito would want to go into the Cathedral, the interior of the building was renowned for its architecture, with its biblical paintings on the roofs especially the scene in the central dome, stain glass windows that cast colored light on the mosaic floors, marble pillars and gilded plasterwork that formed ornate scrollwork covering 99% of the walls and framed all the images of Christianity. 

 

He’d been there often, more times than he could count, he expected to go in again, but Akihito simply stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the green in front of the massive Cathedral, plopped himself down on the grass with an achieved exhalation, laid back and stared at the sky in a complete world of his own.

“I fucking did it. I’m here.” The Japanese mumbled. His eyes looked distant, they took on a glimmer of reminiscence with traces of nostalgia as he recalled whatever brought him up to this point.

 

As brash as Mikhail was, he sensed this wasn’t really the time to intrude on Akihito’s musings, something about the way he lay there with his arms spread wide, resting in the soft green grass that contrasted against the color on his arms was alarmingly beautiful. Hazel eyes mirrored the clouded sky’s reflection, and the colors changed when clouds cleared overhead. He went from dark to light, just like that image on the napkin, he got that feeling again that perhaps Akihito had seen right through him, and that maybe they were similar in some ways, or maybe Mikhail really was just that translucent to this person, to this complete fucking stranger who had no idea who he was. This day really was turning out many unexpected things.

 

The wind sighed and ruffled blades of grass against Akihito’s skin, the blonde shut his eyes at that, serenity gracing his face, “The grass. It’s just as soft as I thought it would be.”

 

He sensed that this was probably a significant moment in the young man’s life; it might have been one for Mikhail too, but the moment passed when he went off to the nearby coffee stand to leave the man named Akihito in peace for a few moments. He had all day to tease him, after all, and moments like this with someone who knew not what he was, someone who that morning Mikhail never knew existed, weren’t so bad either.

 

 

*****

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff is fluffy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ubeta'd because I didn't want to pester my beta during the festive season.
> 
> Happy New Year.
> 
> Hopefully will get back to writing more VF in 2015.

“Here.”

Akihito snapped back to his surroundings when he saw the white, bottom of a paper cup hover above his face. Mr Russia, no, Mikhail, offered it to him from where he stood beside Akihito’s head, and Akihito took it in thanks.

 

From here, all Akihito could see was patches of blue, with ever changing quilt work of white vapors billowing across the sky, along with the looming figure of the man he’d drawn on a napkin outside a random café that very morning.

 

The world turned slowly, an azure tie-dye backdrop moving inch by inch behind the concrete centerpiece that was Mikhail. He was immobilized by that same sentiment he’d had on the plane last night as he looked down at the city - something special in St Petersburg.

 

That uneasy anticipation gripped him, his instincts told him to run, his pride told him to stand firm and fight this unknown feeling, he _hated_ running, he’d been running from fights for too long, however this presence before him was too big to endure, but it was also the reason he was having this concoction of feelings in the first place.

 

What even was this? He didn’t know this dude from a bar of soap.

 

Stupid fucking feelings. Piss off.

 

Despite all that, he couldn’t take his eyes off him, he felt heat blemish his cheeks as the man stared back from his aerial vantage point.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Mikhail smirked at him, and Akihito took that moment to cover his face with the back of his other hand, because fuck it, he wouldn’t mind taking a picture. That handsome bastard was making fun of him, and he was fucking powerless. Shame.

With his face covered, but his eyes open staring at the deep crimson on the back of his hand, he heard the grass chatter as Mikhail sat down next to him, close. Akihito groaned, this man with his suave leather jacket, flash Hummer, handsome face and eyes that told a million stories would be the actual death of him.

In answer, he got a throaty chuckle, that genuine kind given freely, as if laughing at his own little joke. It was a nice sound, the breeze rolling over his body was nice too, and the sweet smell of hazelnut and sugar that came with it.

Food. _Sweet food_. Akihito sat up and looked in the direction of the aroma.

Mikhail, who was sitting next to him now, was smirking as he held out a paper plate with something that looked descended from heaven on it. A rolled pancake sort of thing, thin and soft looking, sat on the plate with a plastic fork next to it. In the folds of this delicious looking food was a rich chocolate colored sauce, which had to be the source of that heaven sent smell.

The wind chose that exact moment to confirm his theory and blow another waft of sugary, hazel nutty goodness up his nose.

“Are you gonna stare at it, or are you gonna eat it?” Mikhail taunted, a grey twinkle in his eye and a laugh on his lips.

This was food they were talking about here, Akihito’s stomach was famous, and he would never be embarrassed about food in front of anyone, not even this upper-class Russian. He took the paper plate.

“I don’t know how much Russian fare you’ve had yet, but this is one of my favorites.” Mikhail commented as his own plastic fork tore into the center of the goodness on his plate, more of the sauce oozed out, and Akihito’s mouth might have been watering a little.

He managed to stave off shoving it all in his mouth in one go though, instead to ask “I haven’t had any Russian food yet, thanks. What’s it called?”

“Oh, nice, I’ll take you through many Russian firsts then,” Mikhail winked at him, “This is Blini. Oi, don’t just stare, eat while it’s warm.” Akihito didn’t need any further prompting.

 

 

*****

 

 

Buying Akihito Blini from the local coffee stand was another one of Mikhail’s good ideas for the day. He fucking wolfed that shit down, finished Mikhail’s as well, and then he had to go and get the punk another plate. A tattooed fucking bottomless pit was what he was, one that made some pretty interesting noises when the first glob of hazelnut spread hit his tongue. Dude really liked food.

Mikhail would feed him Blini all day to hear a couple more of those noises, though.

 

They didn’t exchange many words while eating, and they had their second coffee of the day as the sun moved higher overhead, marking the passage of time that Mikhail currently wasn’t feeling the press of.

When they were both done, rubbish in a nearby bin, Akihito flopped back down on the grass, his wispy blonde hair entwining with green blades of grass in a striation of colors, like his eyes.

 

His tight black shirt pulled up with the motion as he sat back too, revealing a thin expanse of pastel skin at the hip, flawless and silken. He could see the V where his pelvic muscles dipped below his jeans, oh, Mikhail was tempted just to lean down and blow a big sloppy raspberry on that skin to see if he was ticklish, but…. Even for him that would be a little creepy. He didn’t actually want to scare him off. No matter if he did, he knew his hotel and room number now.

Akihito was a little more relaxed with a full stomach though, and the Russian couldn’t decide if he wanted to feed him more, or if he wanted him to starve. So Akihito laid there, his hazel eyes squinting whenever the sun burst through parted clouds to blind him, and Mikhail sat next to him with his hands back in the grass that was soft, but probably not as soft as the blonde hair of the person next to him, and they both let their food settle. If he were honest with himself; the Mafioso would admit that this right here, was probably one of the most fucking _random_ things he’d ever done in his life. Sitting in front of a cathedral with a stranger (a cute one though) and just, _sitting_ and not feeling once fucking ounce of unease.

 

Mikhail wasn’t actually keeping track of the time, but it’d been about half an hour when the Japanese man next to him suddenly shot up from the ground to a sitting position. The Mafioso tensed, as was natural when someone moved that quickly, but relaxed again and watched as Akihito started rustling through his satchel to bring out a sketchbook and a pencil, he saw Akihito’s eyes faze out in a different way to when he looked at the sky as he lay on his stomach with the book in front of him, his hand twitching over the stark white page in mock drawing, planning.

 

Then, a small hiss announced the first pencil line, and the next, and the next. Mikhail watched the tattoo on the back of Akihito’s hand shift as the tendons flexed underneath his skin, he watched the way his other hand held the book down so gently, to keep the wind from flitting up the image he was currently working on.

 

Mikhail couldn’t quite make sense of what he was seeing at first, it seemed to be simple doodling until the very sky he was sitting under started to take shape.

The delicate flicks of his wrist shaded soft gentle vapors through the center, light and open, a near open sky, white.

But then Akihito started working his pencil outwards, to the edges of the page, and things only got darker from there, his pencil pressed harder, the grey got thicker, more ominous; until in the end there was this harsh, slate storm gathering around this one pocket of soft auras in the center.

 

No, Mikhail couldn’t tell if this ashen storm was closing in, or being pushed away by this…. Silver lining in the _middle,_ because once again it all depended on one thing. The sun. When the sun shone on its makeshift home on this bit of paper, it turned that small haven in the middle into a blinding white light that completely overwhelmed the imposing overcast surrounding it.

Take that sun away though, put it behind a cloud and let your eyes adjust, and the grey reclaimed its rightful power over that small pocket of purity in the center.

 

What was the sun, and where could he find that pocket of tranquility in the middle, maybe he couldn’t, maybe he _was_ the shadow on the outside.

 

Mikhail was still busy questioning himself when Akihito sighed, dropped his pencil and slapped a blood colored hand right in the middle of his work, where that clear patch of sky was. And fuck, he wasn’t blind to that sort of imagery, a chrysanthemum - Japan’s emblem – took its place in the middle and made itself the high light of the image, a crisp contrast from the white and leaden shades surrounding it.

 

Only he must have noticed though, because the smaller blonde let out another nervous laugh, “Sorry, just felt like I had to get that one off my chest right then for some reason.” That shy smile and unsure tone had the Russian snapping out of his dumbfounded state and his world came off the page and went back to normal. That was fucking weird.

Now though, time to have some fun!

 

“You done being all artsy fartsy for a bit then?” he threw in a hair ruffle, maybe to see how soft those blonde locks were, but definitely for the way Akihito started to sputter another honest apology.

“Naaah, don’t mind it.” Mikhail got up, and Akihito followed after he’d packed his things. “Now lets actually go _into_ the cathedral and look instead of sitting outside, huh?” he suggested.

 

Mikhail pushed him along before he could raise another question, crowding him with his chest and getting close not for the last time that day to raise that rose tint on his cheeks.

The smaller blonde got the picture that the Russian in fact didn’t mind at all, and they set out towards the entrance of the cathedral next to each other.

 

 

******

 

 

Okay, this guy was definitely playing with him, Akihito concluded as the day went on, through the cathedral he would stare at an expansive wall with its intricate art only to feel a hot breath on his neck and a question asking if he liked it, then for the man to step back, chuckle and move onto the next feature by himself.

 

The Japanese couldn’t actually comprehend what was going on, like, yesterday he got on a plane to Russia, the location that he picked only because it was the first flight _out._

 

He thought he’d just get a coffee on the first morning, see some things half assed while he staved off jet lag, plan the rest of his Russian itinerary, go back to the hotel and hopefully fall into a normal sleep schedule so he could hit St Petersburg with everything he had the day after.

 

He managed the coffee part, and then _this_ happened. He drew a dude on a napkin, the napkin flew away, said dude picked up the napkin, mocked him and then insisted on showing him around, all the while making mock passes at him and laughing whenever he felt the heat rush to his cheeks.

Akihito didn’t know how to deal with someone like this; someone with such overwhelming confidence, an aura that made him the fucking centerpiece instead of the historical art on the walls.

Akihito was a candle with his little flame, outshone and melting under the suns heated rays.

 

He’d have to come back by himself to appreciate the cathedral to its full spectrum he decided as they left, it was hard to concentrate with someone like Mikhail in the same vicinity.

 

They walked the streets instead of taking the Hummer anywhere else, Mikhail asked questions that Akihito answered, things about his art studies and things he especially wanted to see while in Russia, since Akihito didn’t have an itinerary yet he couldn’t answer those ones.

 

Nothing personal came up, which was good, because Akihito didn’t really have anything personal to share that _was_ good.

_Yeah, you know, I used to brawl and I have a horrible temper and I hated everything and everyone when I was younger, my parents are hardly worthy of that title and me being here is just a way to rid themselves of a problem._

That about summed him up pretty good, he didn’t even share that sort of dismal shit with Kou and Takato, let alone _this_ guy.

 

He couldn’t bring himself to ask Mikhail questions, he was to… anxious to find out just how much above his league he was, that would just be fucking depressing, because he noticed how people looked at him in the street, some people with awe, some with trepidation, which was no surprise given his charisma, and some with open longing because yeah, this guy was sex walking…. on long muscled legs in jeans that hugged his sculpted ass in all the right places. Akihito was turning into a perv.

And here he was, with a shirt he’d fallen asleep in that was a little too small, black jeans and casual shoes next to this fucking guy that was the embodiment of a Greek god.

 

The brief touches that left lingering heat and goose bumps up his spine were starting to come more often too - more bold - especially that one time Mikhail squeezed his ass in front of an art exhibit at a gallery they so happened to be standing right at the front of – meaning everyone behind them saw exactly what fucking happened.

 

Akihito would call it sexual harassment it if wasn’t so blatantly obvious that Mikhail was just playing, he was embarrassed sure, but for some reason it never chartered into creepy territory, he had a feeling the man would stop if it got to that.

Plus, he’d be lying through his teeth if he said the touches weren’t nice, more than nice, expertly placed; the perfect amount of pressure and the best place, every time. His warm brush of air on his neck, a tickle on his hip, a firm hand on his back. The guy knew exactly what he was doing, of course.

 

They were on their way out of the gallery where the butt touch occurred, when a large incoming group of tourists with cameras around their necks and fanny packs about their waists took up the entrance space, forcing Akihito back into Mikhail’s chest and oh, the collision made Mr Russia’s cologne fan out and he smelt so good, sandalwood mixed with his natural musk was such a heady combination, an aphrodisiac that made his head spin.

 

A large pair of hands found their place atop his shoulders, kneading until they caressed their way down his arms, rough callouses scratched his tattooed skin on the way to his wrists. He had goose bumps all over again.

“Watch out.” Mikhail chuckled behind him as the hands dropped away, his chest was still cradling Akihito’s shoulder blades though, a perfect fit standing by that door, even though the people crowding it were gone.

“Chop chop!” Mikhaill actually _smacked_ his ass this time, eliciting an audible slap and ripping Akihito almost painfully back to reality, and then he was speaking before thinking as he usually fucking did.

“If you want to touch my dick just fucking do it.” The smaller blonde sassed out, unabashed, because sarcasm was his best weapon and he could give as good as he got, he prided himself on that at least.

“Oh?” came the heated words as he turned, and even though the color gray wasn’t capable of a warm hue, Akihito could see the fire start and he was proven wrong; those gray eyes could express anything.

 

He was pushed against the white wall next to the door, the cold surface sinking through his shirt and dousing him in acute awareness. Everyone was looking at the art thank god, and not at the spectacle in the corner.

A thick leg planted itself in between his, and the muscled thigh had Akihito’s heels coming off the ground as it lifted him partially off the ground by his crotch.

 

He was close, _so close,_ he caged Akihito in with one forearm on the wall above his head and the other palm flat against the wall next to his face.

The breath left his lungs, sucked away by the near heat of Mikhail’s chest, this close he could see the defined lines of his neck that dipped below his collared shirt with a few buttons popped at the top. The smooth stretch of skin down of his chest with muscled power and definition was staring him in the face as Mikhail moved closer.

 

He felt his adam’s apple roll up and then back down his throat as he swallowed, he dared look up into those grey eyes, and that was a mistake. There was no playfulness there now, just all encompassing want, power, possession. He shuddered against the wall. Fuck.

 

Mr Russia was going to fucking kiss him! His mind raged from fight to flight, when in his gut; he didn’t want to do either of those things. Another group of tourists walked through the door next to them, chattering away between themselves and those lips moved closer still, it took an eternity until he felt hot breath hover over his mouth.

“You should be careful what you wish for.” That thick accent whispered, lips brushing against his with the motion, and great, now he had a thing for accents too. Even though it was probably just Mikhail’s, his low, rasped accent.

 

Gone, he was fucking gone. The little candle moved too close to the sun and was now a puddle of wax on the floor.

 

Suddenly though, all too suddenly, the heat vanished and Mikhail stepped back, transformed back into the playful charmer he was with a smirk tugging at his lip, leaving Akihito bereft against the wall. He struggled to catch his breath and cool down, and he could feel Mikhail’s eyes all over him, because he knew he must look totally spaced out right now. Mikhail 1: Akihito 0.

 

*****

 

 

Mikhail surveyed his handiwork, and he was pretty chuffed with the result, Akihito was out of breath with glazed eyes and an adorable pout on his lips that were so soft it was fucking criminal.

Of course he couldn’t resist the challenge with what the cheeky little punk said, he would have loved to stay close, but Akihito still smelt like sugar and hazelnuts, totally edible, and Mikhail’s self control had never been _that_ good.

He wasn’t touching him now to be mischievous, it was more like a gravitational pull; something he couldn’t help, he still like the result every time he heard the smaller man’s breath catch though, or the way he tried to brush it off as if he didn’t like it. They both liked it.

 

That was enough teasing the both of them for one day though, it was reaching evening, and Mikhail still had plenty of work to do, Yuri had been texting him all day, that sour faced bastard.

“You coming, Akihito?” he called as he stepped towards the door, he relished the fact that the tattooed artist stepped away from the wall to follow him without a second thought, following the Mikhail depicted on the napkin, not the dark Mafioso that had a 9mm pistol in his jacket pocket.

“Don’t do that.” Akihito chided as they stepped onto the street, his chin raised and his arms crossed over his chest. So cute.

“You liked it.” He shot back, and then promptly burst into laughter that drew all eyes on the street when Akihito snapped his mouth shut and blushed furiously.

“Shut uuup.” Came the whine as they drew near the Hummer.

“You can try make me, if you want.” He taunted as he got his keys out, the steel of his gun brushed his knuckles and the ring on his finger with a clink; a harsh reminder of who he actually was.

All he got to that was a groan when Akihito buried his face in his hands.

“Haha, alright, alright. I’ll stop now, you’re just too easy!” they got in the car.

“Well, you’re just too.. too…”  
“Handsome?!” he chirped back with a wink as the engine started, they both knew it was true.

Akihito just sighed, and then it turned into a full-blown yawn with his eyes scrunched shut and a tired stretch to go with it, he knew it was time to take him back to his hotel then.

 

He was a lot less fidgety on the drive back, he sat back in the seat with ease and kicked his legs out, nearly falling asleep as the car pulled up to the drop off bay at the front of the building.

“Hey, Akihito.” He roused him awake with a jostle on his shoulder, watching his eyes flutter open and fix on him in awareness.

“Shit… sorry.” Came the mumble. “Um.. thanks for today. I think.” Akihito said as he gathered his satchel from the foot well of the car.

“Tomorrow too.” Mikhail decided on the spot. Yuri could suck a genital he found unpleasant, meaning dick. Mikhail hadn’t taken a break in a while.

“Wha?” blonde hair swished as it turned to face him, a scarred hand that told stories Mikhail wanted to know gripped the center console. Akihito hadn’t asked him anything, and Mikhail didn’t ask enough, tomorrow would do.

“Tomorrow too, meet me at the same coffee shop. You said you didn’t know what you were going to see here, right? I’ll show you.” He offered, he didn’t say it to rouse a reaction this time.

“But… don’t you have work to do? I’m sure your busy.” _Now_ he was shifting in his seat again, his eyes wide in disbelief. Mikhail didn’t like that.

“I’m on break.” He was his own boss, he could fucking take a break if he wanted, or he’d just get more shit done during the nights.

“Can I think about it?” came the tentative question, a shy hand scratched the back of Akihito’s neck, and Mikhail watched the dragons scales on his arm ripple with the movement, he still very much wanted to find out where that dragon’s head was, even more so now.

He wasn’t a complete ass though, Mikhail knew he was overbearing at times, “No pressure.” He smiled when Akihito gave him a relieved grin.

“I actually am going to kiss you now though, Akihito.” Mikhail really did want to see him tomorrow; a kiss would seal the deal, surely.

He ignored the flush this time as he leant over the center console, raised his hand to flutter along a soft jaw that thankfully didn’t pull back, and listened to Akihito’s breath hitch as their lips touched.

 

It started off as a peck, because he really didn’t want Akihito to freak out, he would have felt like an absolute dick then, but then the Japanese sighed into his mouth and that was his cue to press his lips firmer, and hold that jaw a little more in his hand. The thrum of the young man’s pulse under his fingers matched his own; he didn’t even notice when his own heart started racing, but shit, it left him breathless too.

 

With a quick swipe on his bottom lip with his tongue for good measure, he pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, meeting utterly confused irises that were desperately trying to figure him out. Yeah, even he could admit this situation was fucking odd, but he’d said it before; Mikhail liked odd.

“See you tomorrow, I hope.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick AN about White Nights:  
> St Petersburg stands at such a high latitude that the sun does not descend below the horizon enough for the sky to grow dark at a specific time of year, mainly from June through to July.  
> In fact night becomes curiously indistinguishable from day, so much so that the authorities never need to turn the city's streetlights on! (taken from www.saintpetersburg.com)

 

 

Mikhail drove back to his apartment to meet with Yuri after sitting in front of Akihito’s hotel building for a few minutes longer; thinking. The sun was starting to make its way down to the horizon, throwing St Petersburg into hues of purple and gold as it reached dusk, white nights in this city never failed to amaze him, the sky’s reflection on the canals outside his apartment were always a welcome sight.

 

It was with no surprise that he found his right hand man waiting for him in the foyer of his abode, leaning against the wall with a tick of impatience on his brow.

“Good day?” the older Russian asked with chagrin as Mikhail simply ignored him and went further into his luxury home.

“It was a fucking rad day, thanks for asking, I am taking the day off tomorrow too, by the way.” Mikhail chirped with a cheeky wink of his eye.

“What’s his name?” there it was, Yuri was never one to beat around the bush, and he was always one to do thorough checks on everything. Not this time though.

“You aren’t running his name, Yuri.” Something told him that finding out things the normal way would be much more gratifying with Akihito, not giving his name to someone to run it on a database and have it all returned on a piece of paper.

Running a name through the system wouldn’t tell him about scars, it wouldn’t tell him about childhood memories or favorite foods, it wouldn’t tell him likes or dislikes, it would only give him black and white words on a straight lined page. Akihito was much more colorful and bizarre than what any report could tell him, he was sure.

 

No, actually getting to know someone didn’t work that way, having Akihito tell him would be rewarding in itself. Plus, he had an image to keep up, the one of the nice Mikhail on the napkin.

He was sure Akihito would think the man on that napkin wouldn’t do such a thing, and so the real Mikhail wouldn’t either.

 

 

******

 

Akihito might have slept in on purpose even though he was in fucking Russia, out of Japan, he might be burying himself under his blankets half in regret and half in embarrassment right about now too. Regret that he hadn’t picked up his balls and just gone to that quirky little café to see if Mikhail was actually there this morning and this wasn’t all just some fucked up dream or big joke.

Embarrassment of the fact that once he got up to his room to take a shower and go to bed last night; he’d jacked off to the memory of being pushed against the wall in the gallery.

His lips still tingled from the kiss, and his skin was still hot from wherever Mikhail had been touching him throughout the day; he’d turned into a randy fucking teenager who maybe cried out Mikhail’s name as he came all over the shower floor and then felt horribly ashamed after he’d come down from his orgasm.

 

He had no doubt the real thing would be better, someone like Mikhail was bound to know what they were doing in that department if that fleeting kiss was anything to go by.

 

 

Even if he was at the café, there was no way in hell he could face Mikhail now, that fucking napkin incident was bad enough, so he would stay in his too soft hotel bed until morning was done and chew himself out for it later when he would most probably wish he’d just gone to see if Mikhail wasn’t actually fucking with him.

 

It’s not like he’d be disappointed if he wasn’t there anyway, he couldn’t understand why a high class someone like Mikhail would make time for him, but at the same time something about Mikhail felt real and genuine and Akihito was fucking confused because of _feelings_.

Confused because Akihito knew that type, the type his parents associated with that only cared about work and status, people that were significant and note worthy, but Mikhail was even more than that.

Mikhail just had this thing about him; when he entered a room people looked, when he spoke people listened, he had this chilling intensity and Akihito burnt with it when he felt those grey eyes settle on him time and time again. It was daunting to be watched by a person like that, fist fights he could do, but this was on an entirely new level.

So for his own sanity, Akihito turned over and drifted off back to sleep, hoping he hadn’t just made one colossal fuck up because of his own cowardice.

Jet lag was so much better than this.

 

*****

 

 

He didn’t know how much later it was - the hotel had those black out curtains that threw your room into permanent midnight - when he fought the sheets tangled around his legs to get out of bed to answer the knocking on his door. Forgetful of his state of undress (in his camo briefs only), because he was a zombie walking at that point in time, he padded barefoot across the suite ready to give whoever it was an earful.

He had the do not fucking disturb sign on his door, and he was going to tear the hotel staff up for waking him when he obviously wanted to be left alone.

He wrenched the cold brass door handle down with haste, and pulled the door back with a swish of air.

 

“Can you not see the fucking sign?” he snapped at the staff.

Except it wasn’t a fucking member of hotel staff. 

He’d just opened the door in nearly no goddam clothes with his hair most definitely pointing in all directions, sleep in his eyes, throw in some morning breath too, and who was standing there in all their charming, godlike glory but the person he’d chosen to avoid that morning. Mikhail. Fuck.

 

The blush hit him full force, because oh, holy fucking shit he could see the grey tint in his eyes darken as those spheres roamed over his body, a different Mikhail from yesterday was drinking him in, this one was possessive and hungry and it was all fixed on him. He’d never been body conscious before, but he sure as hell was now.

 

He did the only thing he could think of to get out of the situation, and that was shut the door. Instead of it closing all the way and hearing the satisfying click of the door mechanism though; a polished toe wedged in between door frame and door, and then time stood still as Akihito stood on one side and Mikhail on the other. The hum of the buildings air conditioning system was loud in his ears, and the ting of the elevator telling the arrival of someone on his floor was startling.

 

“Hey, that’s no way to greet someone who’s bringing you breakfast in bed is it?” that voice teased him from the other side, light hearted and playful, not reflecting the gaze he’d witnessed only moments ago.

His stomach taunted him too, because it chose that moment to rumble loudly enough for both of them to hear, as if his stomach was answering Mikhail’s comment instead.

Laughter erupted on the other side of the door, deep and uncontrolled, and dammit it was a nice sound, contagious too; because even as he felt like going back to sleep and never waking up again from sheer embarrassment, he still found himself laughing as well.

 

“Seriously though.” That voice called after a time, coaxing and gentle, “I did bring breakfast even though you stood me up.”

 

Oh. Oh! Well now he felt like a fucking jerk, a big, fat embarrassed jerk, because obviously if Mikhail was here, he’d expected to see Akihito at that café with it’s crooked art and odd furniture, and he hadn’t been. That only meant one thing; Mikhail wasn’t actually playing. Even if he knew that now, he still didn’t fucking know what to do about it. Because _Mikhail._

 

“Just let me in, I won’t bite. Promise.”

 

And now _despite_ his state of undress, despite his messed up hair, sleepy eyes and horrid breath, despite the fucking fact he’d masturbated last night thinking about the person on the other side of the door; he stepped away and let it swing open to reveal Mikhail once more.

The taller blonde stepped in, that cheerful twinkle back in his eye and a smirk on his lip, Akihito caught the scent of coffee and whatever delicious food he’d brought in a rush of air as he walked passed, and underneath it all he could smell him, his earthy cologne, clean and fresh. It smelt better than breakfast.

 

“Your undies are cute as fuck, by the way.” Mikhail chuckled as he put the things down on the small dining table in front of the window, and turned to watch Akihito flail around trying to find a pair of goddam pants.

 

*****

 

 

 

Mikhail couldn’t quite believe it. That tattooed punk wasn’t at the coffee shop. He, Mikhail Arbatov, had fucking been denied.

 

He _knew_ the attraction was mutual, so why wasn’t Akihito here?

No matter, he said he wasn’t going to be overbearing, but Mikhail was too impulsive for his own good sometimes. So he had Viktor make a take away coffee the same way he’d made it for Akihito the previous morning, picked up some breakfast pastries and drove to the hotel and taken the elevator to Akihito’s floor with coffee and food in hand.

 

Probably the fact that Akihito had blown him off made Mikhail _more_ interested, more curious, more eager and knocking on the door more insistently than he should, not giving a fuck about the ‘do not disturb sign’ on the door handle.

 

He heard a shuffle on the other side moments before the door handle clicked and was whipped inward, and what he saw froze him in his tracks.

 

“Can you not see the fucking sign?” the smaller blonde snapped obviously before he realized who was standing in front of him, because along with a drowsy crankiness in his tone and a stubborn lilt to his English, he was fucking edible.

 

His hair was spiked in every direction from sleep, his face utterly adorable as he watched the color rise in his cheeks, because he was standing there in nothing but cute camo colored briefs that hung low on his hips.

Mikhail took it all in, and fucking hell. He got to see where the dragon’s head was, roaring at him from a muscular shoulder reflecting the intense will he’d seen in Akihito’s hazel eyes. With the other arm bare, he could make out a pair of koi fish, serene and at peace on their plane of muscle, just like Akihito had been when he stared up at the sky in front of the cathedral. The tattoos that stood out the most to him still though, were the large chrysanthemums on his hands, and the image of one of them slapping down on that page full of clouds yesterday. He didn’t think he’d ever forget that moment.

 

More than all that though; was the expanse of taut pale skin in full view, a trim waist, light abs and a well-muscled chest with collarbones that demanded attention, beckoned him. Fuck. This guy was ethereal and he didn’t even know it.

 

Then, he noticed; more silvery scars that looked to be from old nicks here and there, one on his ribs with old thread marks where stitches had been taken out, a few on his fucking gorgeous long legs that were near invisible, another on his hip that was rough and raised, and more still, he wanted to find them all.

 

He wanted-

 

Oh, never mind that, the door was closing and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Akihito go now, figuratively though, so he managed to catch it shutting in his face with a quick foot in the door.

 

It was probably a good thing it was like this, because he’d snapped out of staring with what he knew would have been open want, he’d probably creeped the dude out. Because Mikhail wasn’t used to restraining himself, when he wanted something he took it, but doing that to Akihito was actually the _last_ thing he wanted, and so he was frozen in a fight with himself as he stood in that doorway more than anything.

 

Staring at the wooden door with a dark gap that lead into Akihito’s room, he managed to collect himself so he could start off where he actually wanted to this morning.

 

With a few earnest words, and a laugh shared between them; Akihito finally let the door swing open to Mikhail’s relief, it was a tense few moments for him really, because he could do what he usually did and barge in uncaring with guns sometimes literally blazing, because he was Mikhail fucking Arbatov and he generally did whatever the hell he wanted.

Except this time he waited, because he wanted to be let in, and there was a huge difference.

Then, typical Mikhail couldn’t help himself; he had to comment on those tight camo briefs hugging Akihito’s behind, because as Akihito walked away back into his room Mikhail was graced with a fine view of his fit ass, and the resulting dance as the smaller man jumped across the room to find clothing was both comical and adorable. He quite enjoyed watching the spectacle before Akihito gathered his wits enough to face him again.

 

*****

 

Akihito was feeling self awkward, they’d finished eating whatever glorious fruit filled pastry that Mikhail brought that he couldn’t pronounce the name of; the coffees had gone down nicely, and there was an elephant in the room in the form of Akihito hadn’t shown up at the café that morning and then also the whole jerking off thing, which was consuming him alive.

Only Akihito seemed to be the only uneasy one, because Mikhail lounged back in his chair with his long powerful legs out, his hands in the pockets of his black jeans, and his leather jacket from yesterday falling open to reveal a tight white T underneath, the picture of cool and casual as he waited for Akihito to sort himself out.

 

He just sat there, and with the curtains now open; the light shone in, lifting the tone of his grey eyes that were soft and warm, something the color grey shouldn’t be capable of being. But Akihito could see it alright. He could see gold strands of his hair highlighted by the morning sun, his skin smooth and flawless.

 

“Why?” he blurted abruptly, because that was the only word that would come to his head right now.

Why was this man, who looked fit to wear a crown, this man who; even as he sat on a dingy chair in a single hotel room with a tiny bathroom and shitty minibar, still managing to make it look like a throne, why was he fucking here?

Mikhail cocked his head, because of course blurting random words wasn’t going to make sense. “Why what?”

“Why are you here?” he insisted, using his utter confusion as momentum to get the words out, because even though in reality Akihito was a loud mouth, sassy piece of shit, Mikhail had him being all shy and fucking _coy!_ For fuck’s sake.

He thought Mikhail might need time to think about it, he thought maybe he’d get a cheeky answer that would throw him off with a sarcastic remark or two, but it was instant, straight forward and frighteningly honest.

“Isn’t it obvious? Because you weren’t there.”

 

Oh. He really was doomed.

 

*****

 

By lunchtime, Akihito’s unease had waned somewhat, because he had a full belly and a sea breeze on his face as he stared from the look out over the Gulf of Finland with his camera in hand.

The ocean was the deepest green, shifting colors as the clouds reflection roamed over its surface, the incoming ships from this high up were tiny, insignificant specks in the grandeur of it all. The air smelt like salt, and gulls squawked overhead as the camera shutter went off again and again.

There were no other people at the lookout; it felt like he was staring at the end of the world as the mouth shaped gulf swallowed the in coming vessels into its maw.

 

Behind him, Mikhail was on the phone, talking to someone in Russian in an authoritative tone, so different from the way he spoke to Akihito, with jokes and jibes, playfulness and wit.  The Japanese got the feeling that there were countless layers to the Russian, a complex piece that you could look at from different angles and see something new with each perspective, not with standing that the guy was a living masterpiece anyway.

 

Suddenly, and he didn’t get a fright this time because he was used to the touches by now, a warm hand was on the small of his back, and Mikhail’s deep voice sounded in his ear; back to the boisterous tone now.

“Sorry about that. Ready to get going, or you want to stay here a little longer?”

“Ah, no, we can go. Where are we going?” Akihito turned and leant against the rail, staring at Mikhail now as the ocean breeze swept the hair away from the man’s face.

 

Mikhail had taken them everywhere, he really should be more wary of stranger danger, and serial killers that liked to lure people in and all that jazz, but Akihito was a creature of instinct also, and his instincts told him that imposing the man might be, he was no threat, to him at least.

Grey eyes twinkled mischievously for a split second and had him rethinking his earlier statement; before Mikhail caught him off guard to duck in quickly and peck him on the cheek in a way so endearing it gave his heart vertigo.

“Haha, you’ll see.” He purred, with a charming wink for good measure.

Kisses were something he was definitely not used to, and he fucking stuttered for words as the broad back strode off back to the car park without a care in the world.

“Hurry up, or I’ll leave you behind!” came the shout from down the path.

“Fuck, shit!” and before he knew it, he’d slung his satchel over his shoulder and was trailing down the path after Mikhail like a love sick little puppy that he probably was.

 

******

 

 

 

“So.” Akihito started as they strolled around a different gallery from yesterday, “how old are you then?” and Mikhail exulted because it was the first personal question Akihito had asked, and he was more than happy to share.

“I’m 32.” He said honestly, and then waited for a reaction. He knew he was older, it didn’t bother him, but it might bother Akihito.

“Oh, god you’re half way dead already, old man.” Akihito sassed at him, because he’d been growing bold throughout the day and Mikhail enjoyed every bit of it.

“Old?” the Russian feigned hurt for a split second, before putting on his most devilish smile to stop Akihito in his tracks on the way to the next exhibit, “I’m pretty sure I could still give a 23 year old punk like you a run for your money, brat.”

“Haha, bring it gramps.”

“Oh, I will don’t you worry about that.”

 

*****

 

“Brussel sprouts?” Mikhail asked him.

“I’ll eat ‘em. Ok, your turn, um, peas?” He asked back. Peas were a safe one.

“Ew yuck. Alright then, tripe?”

“Fuck no,” the smaller man shot back, walking through the streets of St Petersburg in the late afternoon. “Who likes fucking tripe? What about haggis, you tried that?”

The Russian scrunched his nose, “Nope, and I don’t plan on it, you tried escargot?”

“Snails? No, I’m not eating fucking snails.” He knew he must have been making a funny face, because Mikhail barked a laugh at him before carrying on.

“You should, they’re real good, just like chicken.”

“Coming from the man who prefers slugs over peas.” Akihito deadpanned.

“Hey! Peas are disgusting, they’re like little balls of green vomit wrapped in plastic capsules!” came the indignant remark.

And then Akihito lost it with laughter of his own for a change, because this big burly Russian didn’t like fucking peas of all things, he was funny and charming and real, and once Akihito got over himself; a really awesome guy to hang out with.

When he wasn’t stealing kisses that was.

 

*****

 

The sun was making its retreat once more towards the end of their second day, and Mikhail was averse to take Akihito back, but he had work to do tonight at least. Yuri would spit the dummy otherwise.

 

They walked back to the Hummer down the cobblestone streets of one of the older districts, stopping every now and then as Akihito admired architecture, or odd things through shop windows like antiques and books.

In those moments Mikhail would find himself automatically reaching out to touch any part of the younger man, it was instinctual now to rest his hands on his shoulders, or to brush the hair from his eyes. Then there were moments where he just couldn’t help himself; like on the lookout over the Port, Akihito had turned around with the sun at his back and wind whipping at his hair, and Mikhail just felt the need to kiss him. So he did.

Kisses still turned Akihito into a blushing mess, but he seemed to welcome his touch now, lean into it almost unconsciously, and Mikhail liked that fact a lot. He liked the blushes too though.

 

Two days he’d spent with this person, two days he’d known this person was alive and he’d grown incredibly attached already, attached to him, and attached with validating the person drawn on that napkin. Maybe he was that person when he was with Akihito, maybe he _was_ because he didn’t have to put up any Mafioso fronts, or keep his guard up. He didn’t know, yet. Maybe he just wanted to be that person.

 

But he would take Akihito back, because he was a businessman first and foremost, Mikhail Arbatov; he had work to catch up on and people to discipline.

 

 

*****

 

Akihito was back to feeling awkward again; they were parked in the Hummer in front of his hotel, and Mikhail seemed grim almost.

It was unnerving, he wasn’t quite sure what was going to happen next, the sun was low now, and it shone in the front window of the vehicle onto their chests, but the angle meant the roof cast a shadow on Mikhail’s face still.

“Um?” he started awkwardly, because he thought it’d been a good day, maybe it hadn’t to Mikhail?

“Dinner tomorrow.” Mikhail finally spoke out loud, turning to him with a cunning smile.

Like so many other times during the day, when Mikhail did something, said something, or just existed in a certain way, Akihito found himself stupefied.

“Hah?”

The Russian sighed, long and tired, melancholic almost as the sun crept lower, lighting up Mikhail’s face in by inch.

“I have to work during the day, but meet me in the city for dinner.”

Oh, it surprised him how disappointed he was, it also surprised him how much he wanted to hide that fact.

“That’s alright, I’m sure I’ll find something to keep me busy in this wonderful city, get some drawing done maybe.” He gave the satchel in his lap a pat, he hadn’t done much artwork today after all, and he could see images in his head that he wanted to get on paper.

A crease appeared in Mikhail’s brow, his eyes soft and fixed on him and _now_ Akihito knew why Mikhail seemed grim, well he hoped he did.

He smothered a laugh with his hand, looking at a sulking Mikhail in the drivers seat.

“What’s so funny?”

“You… you’re packing a sad because you don’t want to go back to work tomorrow.” He managed between breaths, tears at the corner of his eyes.

“No, I am sulking because it means I will have to wait all day to see you again, actually.”

Well, that made Akihito stop laughing right at that instant, because Mikhail was staring at him like he meant it, meant it right down to his soul. How could someone be so fucking honest, how could someone say cheesy fucking lines from a movie, and make them real.

Mikhail gave him the slyest grin then, “So, you’ll meet me for dinner then?” and yet he was still looking at Akihito, seeking an answer as if he didn’t already know what it would be.

“Yup, guess I will.”

“You guess you will.” Mikhail deadpanned his imitation, “Don’t sound so enthusiastic.”

“Sorry! I will, you just….” _Caught me off guard like fucking usual._ He wanted to say.

“If you don’t want to, tell me, I’m a big boy, Akihito. I won’t force you.”

 

Akihito believed him down to the last word. “I will be there.” He declared finally, and the genuine smile he got was more blinding than the sun that was sinking lower still.

“Good, now give me your number. I’ll text you tomorrow about it.”

 

Akihito gave him his European phone to put his number in too, and couldn’t help but drop it as Mikhail gave it back and fingers closed atop each other. Hands weren’t something that’d touched yet, and the callouses were just as rough as he’d imagined, masculine fingers closed atop his wrist; the phone forgotten.

The image of that scarlet chrysanthemum he adorned on his hands with pride being caressed by Mikhail’s strong ones was an image stained in his mind. He knew what he’d be drawing next.

“Look at me, Akihito.” That deep voice called, and even though his accent was rough and thick, the tone was still soft enough to have him lifting his head.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” And Mikhail twined their fingers together and squeezed before Akihito got out of the car and went back to his room in a daze.

Two days he’d known this person, he thought to himself as he lay face down in his pillows, screaming internally.

Two fucking days.

What would it be like after 3 days, 5 days? A week? How long would he be here, to find out what it would be like then?

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorks being cute dorks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapters give me life. just saying. 
> 
> i tried using google docs and it fucked my formatting, so this chapter looks different from all the others, haha, sorry not sorry.

Akihito woke up early the next morning to the annoying buzz of his phone vibrating across his night stand, once, twice; only a text message then. That had him curious, because no one messaged his European number. He kept in touch with his few friends online, through facebook updates and a couple of messages back and forth. His parents had this number, and he had messaged as soon as he got the phone set up to let his parents know he'd arrived and all that bullshit, out of obligation of course.

His dad replied with one word; 'O.k', and he hadn't used the phone for communication since. So with a sigh, and his head buried under a plush pillow, his arm reached out in the artificial darkness and scrambled across the night stand until he felt the slimline device cold under his fingers.

Squinting, he looked at the screen and waited for his vision to clear as his eyes adjusted to the offensive light abusing his pupils, one eye open and the other wanting to remain asleep; he deciphered the name on the screen and promptly sat bolt upright when he saw who it was.

Misha. 6:47am.   
_> Wakey wakey, hands off snakey! Don’t have too much fun without me today.  
Boo work, send me a selfie of your blushing face so I can get through the day ;)_

He couldn’t help the idiotic grin that split across his face, and fell back into his pillows with a rush of air to bury himself under his blankets because even though it was dark, he just needed to get away from the text message on the phone somehow.

Misha. That’s what Mikhail had entered himself in Akihito’s phone as. What Mikhail said to call him, because calling him Mikhail was like calling someone by their last name in Japanese apparently, formal. Misha. He’d given Akihito a wink and said he didn’t want to be on formal terms. The memory of that might have had Akihito smiling like a high school girl, as well as the text on his phone. Fucking suave bastard.

He was much more brave over telecommunication too, so he flicked his lamp on, lay back down, held the phone out, snapped the photo and quickly pressed send with a caption before he could chicken out. His heart fucking raced, and he pretty much instantly regretted sending it like he knew he would, but too late now.

  
******

It was early when Mikhail sent the text by normal society standards, he’d been up the entire night though, got blood on his shoes, gunpowder on his hands and flown to Moscow and back in the space of that time, he needed a pick me up. It was his own fault he had extra work to do, more meetings in a shorter space of time, but because of those things he got two days with the odd Japanese artist that was currently occupying his thoughts as he sat in the office at one of his clubs.

The morning glare coming through the windows was bright and warm, not reflecting his mood at all; when his phone bleeped on his desk. He picked up the phone, not expecting Akihito to text back this early, but expecting another shitty report from another shitty subordinate who couldn’t do his job, with a problem that Mikhail would probably have to go and fucking fix himself before the day was done.

He shouldn’t complain really, it was his responsibility after all. The reason he was the boss, in complete and utter control over the Russian underworld, was because he was the only one with the brains, ambition and resolve to take what he wanted, when he wanted, stomping on anything and anyone that got in his way in the process. It’s why they all deferred to him, why he was always treated with formality. How fucking boring. With a half sigh, half growl; he checked his phone, and felt his mood instantly shift when he saw who it was.

“You little shit!” he laughed as he sat back in his leather chair and opened the message.

Akihito. 6:51am. 1 photo attachment.  
 _> U woke me up, no blushing selfie for u. >_<_

Indeed it was no blushing selfie, it was so much more than that. Akihito lay on his side with the hand attached to the camera held level with his face on the pillows, as if he was in bed with the cheeky punk. His long arm held the camera far from his face, and he could see the scales of the dragon swirl around and around all the way up to the shoulder against the bed, even in the dim light he could make out the red scales, grey waves of the background and pink blossoms floating on his skin. In fine detail close to the camera, losing clarity the further it went up to the dragons head.

His hair was the typical mess it was, falling against the pillow and draped across his face as he lay there with a his eyes closed as if asleep, and his lip curling ever so slightly; giving the mask of sleep away. Oh my god, so fucking cute.

That wasnt even it though; what it was, was the image of his naked chest and his other tattooed arm, and that unforgettable crimson chrysanthemum on the back of his hand in the middle of of the photo, pulling his goddamn middle finger at him, scarred knuckles and all. He couldn’t even fucking remember the last time someone pulled the fingers at him!

Oh, what a breath of fresh air. One that smelt like the cheap shampoo that came from Akihito’s hotel, and the sweet pastries that he stuffed in his face at every chance he got. Fuck, he hoped the day went quickly. He sent his reply with a snicker, before getting up and moving onto the days work with renewed vigor.

******

Misha. 6:55am.  
 _> I’m sorry, I forgot princesses need their beauty sleep or they turn into cranky little brats. :P _  
_Am heading to work now, I’ll text you when I can. Have a good day. x_  
 _p.s I fully intend you give you that kiss, so watch out. haha._  
 _Misha_

“I am not a fucking princess!” Akihito near shouted at his phone, indignant with his heart still racing from sending that stupid photo, and fluttery with the thought of more kisses. Holy shit, what had come over him? He could feel his pulse in his ears, hammering away at any chances he had at falling back to sleep.

  
“Fuck, well I’m wide awake now.” he tossed his phone in the sheets, and got up to throw his curtains open and let the light stream in, bathing in the warmth that touched his skin. Today was going to be good, he had all day free to wander, so he knew exactly where he would be going; The Hermitage, one of the largest and oldest art and culture museums in the world. He wouldn't get through the five of the six buildings open to the public in one day, not even two, you could spend weeks there, Akihito knew, so he might as well make a start.

The Hermitage in St Petersburg; Russia, away from home and away from all the shit that went with it, and then dinner with Mikhail, an impossibly good looking Russian he’d encountered on his first day here, he almost couldn’t believe it.

*****

Akihito was lost to any concept of time when his phone went off, he was still in the Egyptian collection in the first building; The Winter Palace it was called. Half the time he was torn between looking at the exhibits or looking at the building’s interior, because it really was a fucking literal palace. Built in the 1700s and home to many imperial families and Tsars in that time, it was the thing that fairy tales were made of, he read somewhere that The Winter Palace had over one thousand rooms, and remembered thinking that that was impossible, but nope. It was on the info brochure handed out after he paid the fee and stepped into the section open to the public:

“The Winter Palace has been calculated to contain 1,786 doors, 1,945 windows, 1,500 rooms and 117 staircases.”

If it weren’t for the partitions, guides and signage that was thankfully in multiple languages including English and Japanese, he would have been physically lost as well.

So he checked his phone, welcoming the distraction from all the grandeur.

Misha. 11:23am.  
 _> I’m tired, send me another photo so I can refuel. I won’t make it otherwise x_x_

He scoffed at the message, before covering his mouth so people couldn’t see what it was doing. He wasn’t in the darkness of his hotel room now. So he stepped away into a corner and finally let his grin show as he typed out his reply.

******

Mikhail ignored the looks he received from the businessmen at the table as he pulled his phone out, the deal was going his way anyway, and they knew it, checking his phone would do nothing to change the outcome.

Akihito. 11:27am  
 _> No can do, not allowed to take them @ the hermitage. U’ll have to struggle thru. U can do it! XD_

“Fwaha!”now they were looking at him with wide eyes as he looked fondly at the screen, because no one ever saw that look on Mikhail Arbatov’s face.

Oh fuck, even texting Akihito was fun.

“Mikhail, get off the phone and sign the documents.” Yuri hissed in his ear.

“Right, right. My bad. Now, where were we gentlemen?”

*****

 

Akihito was still in The Winter Palace building when he felt his pocket vibrate, he was in the Russian art section and everything seemed to remind him of the person who was messaging him.

Misha. 1:56pm  
 _> Still no selfie? :( just take one real quick, promise you won’t get in trouble. Pleeeaase._

“Oh, fine then.”

*****

“Haha yuss!” Mikhail chuckled as he looked at his newest message. He was having way too much fun with this.

Akihito. 2:00pm 1 photo attachment  
 _> thug life._  
  


The photo was of him pulling a serious face, a mug shot, except his eyes were fucking twinkling in all their hazel glory and there was no hiding the mischief there, because a security guard was right behind his back in the shot, looking the other way.

Well, of course the guard was looking the other way, he’d sent word through to the security sector of The Hermitage and told them that a blonde Japanese man with tattoos up his arms and flowers on his hands could take however many the fuck photos he wanted and he wasn’t to be stopped.

Mikhail wanted a photo of Akihito, so he was going to get a goddamn photo even if he had to pull some strings.

He laughed mischievously to himself as he took a photo and sent his reply.  

 

*****

 

Akihito hadn’t even taken two steps from where he sent the photo when his phone told him he had a reply. Mikhail sure was messaging a lot for someone who was meant to be at work. He’d have to ask what he did to allow him such freedom over his work time.

Prying into personal life would start making things meaningful, and then Akihito would find out how different they truly were. He was happy for things to remain as they stood, with no social boundaries in the way.

In his own little world of thought, tuned out to the people walking around him with their info guides and finger pointing at different pieces; he checked his mobile, and because he was in his own little world, not realising where he was, he exploded with riotous laughter and doubled over holding his stomach because FUCK.

Misha. 2:05pm. 1 photo attachment.  
 _> I didn’t choose the thug life, the thug life chose me._

And the goddam photo was nearly identical to the one he’d sent, except he was pulling some ridiculous gang sign over his chest, and had his head tilted to one side like he had swag or some bull shit and oh my god, it didn’t suit him one bit because he was so much classier than that and that’s what made it so fucking hilarious.

He was brought out of his laughter by a tap on the shoulder, and he turned to see a security guard looking at him a little nervously. Yeah, he probably would come off as bat shit crazy, damn he was going to get kicked out of The Hermitage for fuck’s sake.

“Sir, could you please be a little more quiet?” The man dressed in black security clothing asked him. As if Akihito had any say in it, or was he really that intimidating? He knew his tattoos could throw some people off, but this dude was looking at him as if Akihito had a gun pointed at his head.

“Fuck. Shit. I mean, sorry! I’ll be quiet.” he stammered because swearing wasn’t very polite to someone who’d pretty much just let you off for causing a disturbance in an extremely quiet building where any loud noises like laughter carried down all the hallways.

The guard just gave a nod and moved off, so Akihito sent a reprimanding text back to Mikhail before doing the same and getting the hell out of that section of the building where people were looking at him as if he had two heads and was about to sprout another.

 

*****

Akihito. 2:09pm  
 _> Stop it. I laughed so hard I nearly got kicked out! -_- Thug, my ass._

Mikhail’s booming laughter echoed down the halls of the corporate building he was leaving after the meeting was over, drawing all eyes to him as he looked at his phone and walked, uncaring of the people who had to jump out of his way.

Akihito wouldn’t get in trouble or kicked out either, he’d made sure of that also. But it was funny knowing the Japanese had no idea, he could do nearly anything he wanted in that museum right now and he’d get off scot free.

He kept laughing in the elevator, with Yuri and another of his men looking at him like he’d actually lost it this time, he was a loose unit after all.

Stepping into the waiting limo to head off to his next appointment at the shipping yards; he typed his reply.

*****

Misha. 2:17 pm.  
 _> Oh, I’ll thug your ass alright ;) be ready for dinner at 7pm. I’ll pick you up, will be busy for the rest of the afternoon. Don’t cause too much trouble. _  
_Misha xx_

“Thug my ass….” Akihito deadpanned, “Did he really just say that?” He shrugged off the cheesy pick up line and focused on the rest of the text with a nervous flutter in his belly; 5 hours until he’d see Mikhail again.

He had a feeling the clock was going to go really slow from here on out.

*****

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok ok ok. date next chappie. ill update other stuff now, though. I gues.s XD these boys just get me carried away.
> 
> On another note: Have a good weekend!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Split the date in two,(real life is demanding -_-) next part soon :)
> 
> Also, I know ya'll want lemons, but relationship development will always be my priority, or the smut means nothing. Thank you for your patience.

Insecure was not a word Mikhail associated with himself, ever. But planning this date to impress someone with its non impressiveness was fucking hard. On one hand, he just wanted to have the jet ready so they could fucking fly to Paris or Rome; because even though Mikhail never dated, that’s what he’d do with a person if he did. Except it was Akihito, who probably didn’t care for any of that, he’d care about what he could see from where they were, the colors and the scenery.

Jets and Michelin star restaurants would mean nothing to him, Mikhail was sure, they didn’t mean much to Mikhail either anyway. He’d hate to be spoiled, when that’s all Mikhail wanted to do, because isn’t that what you did on dates? Mikhail had no fucking idea. None. All he knew was that he couldn’t go overboard or Akihito would do that thing where he looked away from him and went quiet.

Fuck it all. He needed help. So with a curse, he locked the door to his office via the security panel on his desk, took his phone out and dialed one of the few numbers on speed dial.

It picked up after a few rings.

“Misha, my boy, what can I do for you?” a matriarchal voice sing songed to him, the sound of his childhood.

“Hi ma, I need your advice.”

And so he explained to his mom his situation; about this man that’d drawn him on a napkin outside the cafe he took his mom too when she visited, the way his hands fidgeted whenever he felt like drawing something, the chrysanthemums that inched into his mind at any odd time, the scars on his knuckles and the sparkle in his eyes that blazed whenever he looked at art. As he spoke to his mom, he knew he was in deep, she knew it too, because normally she would poke fun at him, like only the mother of a mob boss could, tease him or laugh; but she was quiet the entire time.

“And how long have you known him? Why haven’t I heard about him yet?” came the eventual question that Mikhail knew she would ask, the question that had him pinching his brow because his answer was ridiculous.  
  
“Three days, ma. I met him three days ago.” he sighed into the phone, saying it out loud made it sound even worse.  
  
“What’s wrong with that? That’s how long I knew your father for when I decided I’d marry him.” his mother deadpanned back as if it was a completely normal turn of events.

“M-marry?! I haven’t decided to marry anyone, mom.” Mikhail startled back, feeling his heart skip a beat at the word. No fucking way.

“That’s what you say now, hehe! Anyway, why on earth would such a nice man agree to go out with my Bratva leader of a son?” she sighed an affectionate sigh at the end, Mikhail felt himself cringe.

“He doesn’t know, ma. I haven’t told him any of that.”

There was an outraged indrawn breath “Mikhail Arbatov! I never raised you to lie to people that you care about!”  
  
Mikhail knew that if his mom were here he would have got a walloping over the back of his head, but the verbal slap of his full name was still just as bad.

“I know! I know! But fuck, mom, I don’t want to scare this one away.” he bent down to rest his forehead on his desk, fuck. Just fuck.

Sure, Akihito might have a bad history if his scars were anything to go by, but nothing could top being the leader of Russia’s organized crime syndicate. Weapons, drugs, murder, blackmail and extortion were everyday things in his life, and he was the one who controlled it all.

“Misha,” his mom started softly, “If I know you, you would have done something that would have scared him away already, you were always too forward, too honest, actually you were just a pushy child who always had to be in control, but that’s how you got to where you are. If he’s going out with you tonight, for goodness knows what reason he must like you. Tell him, Mikhail, and don’t mess it up because I want to meet him. He sounds adorable!”

“He is adorable.” Mikhail smiled against the desk. “So, got any ideas for me then?”

He’d opened a can of worms with this one, because his mom wouldn’t stop talking, telling him to be subtle, and that gentlemen don’t fuck on the first date, and some place with a view would be nice because Akihito was an artist, and an entire menagerie of things that Mikhail soaked in, food and wine; everything in between.

By the end of their back and forth suggestions, Mikhail felt confident that what he had in his head would be just enough, and not too much. He still wanted to lavish Akihito, so by fucking christ he would, he just wouldn’t go overboard is all. Because Mikhail was someone who could easily go overboard, this date was taking his self restraint to new levels.

“Thanks, mom.” Mikhail swung around in his chair when their talk came to a close with a self satisfied smile on his face as he thought about his plans.

“It’s what mothers are for, otherwise you’d never win someone over.”

“Oi, whose fault would that be? You raised me!” he laughed, oh, it was always good to talk to his mom, who still talked to him like he was any old person.

“You take after your father, not me.” his mom jibed.

“Well the old man is a fucking bad ass anyway, so that’s a compliment, thank you very much!”

His mom’s musical laughter tinkled over the line, his own joined in momentarily before he carried on. “Speaking of the old man, can you not tell him about this little talk, please?”

“He’ll find out, there are no secrets in this family remember.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I just.. fuck. I think I want to make sure it’s gonna work out before he knows. Is all.” something about telling his father over telling his mom made it so much more… real. Official or whatever people called it, and it was far from that at the moment.

“Tell me how it went in the morning, okay?” there was that motherly undertone there, the warning one; Mikhail knew exactly why it was there.

“Yes, yes, I know. Gosh.” he rolled his eyes, his mom couldn’t see, but she’d still get it.

“Don’t give me that, now get back to work, you’ve probably got people to shoot and drugs to traffic, and no son of mine will be slacking off on the job.”

“It’s guns, mother. Guns! Alright, you crazy woman, talk to you tomorrow, love ya.”

“Love you too! Kiss kiss.”

The line went dead, and Mikhail promptly started making arrangements to have everything all sorted by the time 7pm rolled around.

****  
  


*****

Akihito….. did not know what this was.

The day did indeed drag after that last text message, but now he was with Mikhail, on a rooftop in St Petersburg, and he wished it’d dragged maybe a little longer so he could have prepared himself for this.

The sun was moving flat along the horizon, casting an evening glow over the city and bathing the roof on top of the grey stone building in warm tones. The building he was on; was on the Griboyedov Canal Embankment, and from here he could see the canal stretching in both directions; 5 kilometers long with 21 bridges along it’s length, one of the best ways to see Russian architecture at its finest was to travel up the narrow waterway by boat and marvel at all the historical buildings that towered high on each side.

  
From this vantage point he could see some of the world’s most photographed sites, the purple glow of dusk reflecting on the water, perfect symmetry as the world of St Petersburg was mirrored on the waters surface, two sets of glowing street lights, two sets of moving cars with their red brake lights and yellow indicators, the man in the coat reflected upside down walking along the street with his briefcase and newspaper. A world inside the water filled canals, one that reflected the stars and the moon, the sun and the clouds.

  
He was entrapped in this view, the water that softened reality’s harsh lines and bold lights, it was true the real masterpieces were never on canvas, but in the sights that the world had to offer, this was one of those offerings.

“You like the view?” Mikhail hummed behind him as he sat on the rooftop furniture.

Underneath a fabric lined canopy with open sides and a tented top; wicker loungers with beige cushions sat in front of a long low table, there was a spread of food that was still covered, plates and bowls of goodness knows what, baskets of fresh bread and buckets of ice with wine and beer, it all smelt amazing. It smelt like a fucking date.

Which brought him to his current state of unpreparedness. Because he didn’t know how to do dates with normal people, let alone someone like this, on a rooftop at his first destination of what was meant to be an around the world trip.

Dates meant sharing things, and he wasn’t sure how to go about that without sounding like either a crazed psycho who got in fights for fun, or a kid with daddy issues who did it for attention, he didn’t know what would be worse; disdain or sympathy.

“Just sit down, Akihito. No pressure, remember.” he got a friendly wink that helped to dislodge some of his unease, because even though the environment was definitely that of a date, Mikhail exuded a casual air, the same as usual as he sat back in his chair and waited with not a care in his posture or a worry in his shadow eyed gaze.

Akihito couldn’t figure out which view was better at that moment, because Mikhail sitting on that couch basking in evening light was also something he could probably look at for a long time; so he ignored that niggling feeling and let his stomach rule him as usual, he sat down next to the Russian to eat.

*****

“Hey, shut your eyes for a sec.” Mikhail chuckled to him, food and drink was flowing, the sun was just below the horizon, casting that light that made it hard for your eyes to adjust, and talk was surprisingly light between them as usual, there was no pressure at all. Akihito felt at ease, and so he shut his eyes, because he felt like it’d be alright.

“Open your mouth.” Mikhail urged. Akihito wasn’t sure about that though, his eyes were shut and he couldn’t see what expression Mikhail was making.

A thumb ran along his bottom lip, soft, gentle and coaxing, oh, fuck. That was nice.

“Trust me, what do you think I’m gonna do, huh? Poison you?” came the laugh, hearty and genuine, and so he let that thumb pull his mouth open.

He waited as he heard the sound of a food container opening, rustling, the clink of cutlery, and then something was placed in his mouth, he felt the cold tines of the fork brush his tongue as the utensil was pulled away, leaving a garlic, buttery morsel in his mouth.

“Now chew!” came the next instruction.

Akihito chewed, the soft meat dissolved on his tongue, doused in herbs that didn’t overpower the…  was it chicken? It tasted like chicken, but the texture wasn’t quite the same as he swallowed.

His eyes shot open, to see Mikhail holding back laughter as he held a fork with an empty snail shell in the other hand.

“You fed me a fucking slug!” Akihito burst out. “Where did you even get snails? Someone’s garden?”

“Hahahaha! Never mind where I got them. It was good right though, right? I know you liked it.” and then came that trademark wink, because Mikhail was right and he knew it. The slugs were good.

“You want another?” Came the tease, with a suggestive wiggle of his eye brows.

“No more slugs.” Akihito pouted.

“But its rude to say no to something someone is giving you.” The laughing man cooed.

“Fuck you. Give me another slug then.” Akihito bit back.

“Haha. You’re so easy. It’s cute.” He stabbed another damn bug and held it out.

“Yeah yeah, I bet you didn’t bring any peas though. Watching you make faces while eating peas would be cute too.” Akihito deadpanned before he ate another snail. Yes, the snails were really good. Dammit.

“What are you talking about? I’m already cute! Aren’t I?” and then Mikhail beamed the cheekiest grin yet directly at him, all perfect white teeth and teasing eyes.

Akihito thought he’d done well with not blushing up until this point, he felt like he was getting used to Mikhail’s forwardness, but that smile had him throwing himself to the other end of the lounger to bury his face in the cushions to hide while Mikhail just kept laughing. It wasn’t just a blush he was hiding, but a massive smile of his own.

“Oi. Don’t hide!”

“No, go away!”

Eventually, Akihito came out of hiding to carry on with their date thing. Whatever it was. Maybe it was, Akihito thought he’d be pretty fucking lucky if so.

*****

“Try this!” Mikhail urged to him as he sat close, their thighs touching, Akihito noticed they’d both been moving closer to one another, Akihito’s was unintentional, he was just drawn in as the night wore on. Mikhail seemed to notice too, but still there was no pressure.

“It’s not secret grossness or something weird?” Akihito questioned, suspicious at the food in front of his face. He could see Mikhail’s callouses with his hand this close, and that gold band on his finger with Russian symbols on it, he wondered what it said. It looked important.

“No, the snails were the only thing, haha. Promise.”

“Fine then.” he sighed, before opening his mouth, he chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. “It’s good!”

“See, told ya! Ok, try this next.”

*****

Mikhail was pleased with how the night was going, the food was good, because he made sure it fucking would be, drinks washed it down well, and now they were just sitting on the spacious settee laughing about nothing in particular.

Akihito was much more chilled out, maybe because he had a few beers in him, maybe because he was getting comfortable. He hoped it was the latter.  
  
He was a sassy punk, a really cute, sassy punk who had no problem telling Mikhail where to go for the escargot trick, no problem taking food from his hands, and no problem kicking back with a burp once he was full, which took a lot. Dude could fucking eat! Comments about being cute, and the brush of their hands together as they reached for something still made him blush though. He liked that just as much.

Yeah. Mikhail was fucking smitten alright. His mom was going to have a damn field day.  
  
How on earth had they managed to spend two and a bit days together and not get into talking about themselves though, he thought. It was both good and bad. It meant talk between them was easy, they were familiar with each other, despite the fact they weren’t actually familiar with each other.   
But despite their attraction that Mikhail would actually label electric, like when people described sparks in those fucking romance movies, it meant there were walls still. Mikhail knew what was behind his. He wanted to know what was behind Akihito’s more than anything else. What did someone as bright and talented as Akihito have to hide?

Well, he decided it was finally time to find out.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big chapter is big.
> 
> dialogue though…..

“So.” Mikhail started, looking out over the edge of the rooftop. “Why art huh? How’d you get into it?” Mikhail hated himself, he was a top notch manipulator, he knew what questions to ask, and he knew what reactions to look for to know when he’d found the base of that wall inside someones head.  
  
He wouldn’t be tearing this one down though, it wasn’t a torture session, or an interrogation. He was just simply finding out where he could get in by the proper means. A new experience for him, that was for sure.  
  


From the corner of his eye, he watched Akihito think. His brows pursed in cute little lines, his eyes gleamed in the permanent twilight, and then he threw his head back to stare at the sky as he answered, spaced out as the dusky sky reflected in those hazel orbs.

“Has art ever taken you away? You know, when you see it, does it like, transport you?” he chose his words carefully. Mikhail let him think. He could see more was coming.   
“Its not something I’ve ever really spoken about, so describing it’s hard. But for me, ever since I was young, I guess art has been a place that helps me escape. It can help anyone escape. From school, from the office, from family or everyday life. I needed it once, I still do, but now I can create my own paradise, and I want to create places for other people too. I want to take people away with me…. Oh woah. It sounds really fucking lame when I say it like that, it just came out. You don’t have to listen.” one tattooed hand covered Akihito’s eyes in his own exasperation.

“Akihito.” Mikhail turned to say, he was surprised at the gentleness of his own voice as he pulled the hand away from hazel eyes and kept hold. Gentleness and Mikhail wasn’t something that usually mixed. “I want to listen.”

“Oh.” was the hushed reply he got.

“So, what brings you here then, apart from the obvious sights and sounds. You’re not escaping for real, are you? Criminal on the run?” he decided to lighten the mood with a quip. He knew where to prod now.

It worked, sort of. Akihito barked a harsh laugh, full of irony and sarcasm.

“My old man would have a fucking fit. Can’t have the honorable district attorney's son with a record. Haha. Nooooo. No. Once I graduated from university, the old man said he’d send me around the world, which is what I always dreamed of, travelling and all that shit, seeing the world. Russia’s the first stop.” Akihito said, almost snide, and Mikhail knew where the real issue was. His mind was fucking throwing loops though, and couldn’t quite prioritise things just yet. _Loops!_

 

His dad was a district fucking attorney! Meanwhile, Mikhail was a goddamn mafia boss. Well. That was going to go down well. Two opposite ends of the spectrum. Fuck. _Your dad enforces the law, and I do everything I can to tear that law to shreds on a day to day basis, wanna fuck?_ Yeah, that was gonna go down real fucking swell.

Secondly. Akihito was only here on a short stop? Why hadn’t he thought of that yet? Shit! And why did that make him panic a little?

Lastly, he didn’t seem to hold much love for his old man, even though he’d sent him around the world. Oh, he didn’t even know where to start. The scars didn’t make sense at all now, either. But he sensed they had a lot to do with it.

This guy was a fucking puzzle and Mikhail was good at puzzles. He was starting to figure it out already because Akihito was making it easy. He might not be hugely open, but his words, the honest way he said things, were enough. Mikhail was certain the smaller blonde would be a terrible liar. Then again, he figured Akihito probably wouldn't lie anyway.

Well, since he didn’t know how much time he had, he would cut right to the chase. His mom must have been right, the fact that Akihito was here meant something, so he’d just have to risk it and press onward, something he did best. Hell yeah.

His thumb ran across those scarred knuckles, feeling how smooth the skin was; they were old scars. The wounds had to be bad for scarring to still be this evident though, that or repetitively made over time, knuckles of a brawler.

“How’d a DA’s son end up with knuckles like this huh? Rebel were ya?” he teased, light hearted, because even as he dying to know, he still found the thought amusing. There was a rebellious streak for sure, he just wanted to know how deep it ran.

 

The smaller fist clenched in his hand, Akihito winced and fidgeted, he might have wanted to move away, but now that he was this close; Mikhail wasn’t going to let any distance between them. He’d worked hard all evening trying to make Akihito feel comfortable with being close. Oh, restraint! He was doing a fucking top job, because all he wanted to do was get closer.

The silence stretched out as far as the horizon, and Mikhail thought maybe perhaps he’d been a little too pressing. He could see Akihito’s termoil, those brows transformed into a scowl at whatever unsavory thoughts were going through his head. No one wanted to talk about old scars. Fuck. Good one, Misha!

“Ugh, I don’t wanna tell you.” Akihito finally huffed with a confused pout.

Restraint, Mikhail!

“Oh? Why is that, mm?” he asked, interested. “You were a real bad boy, weren’tcha?” he threw in a wink for good measure. He knew the girls fucking swooned over that one. Akihito though, wasn’t like anyone he’d ever met and he ripped his battle scarred hand from his and turned to face him abruptly. Oh shit, he’d really done it now.

 

“Why? Because you’re like this rich handsome dude who probably has this respectable job or whatever you do, and if I tell you my shitty story, you might… not l-like me after, fuck, I mean, that’s if you like me at all and I don’t even know what this is!” Akihito stammered out the last words in a rush, dead serious, shy and honest all at the same time. And it was just so damn endearing, it made Mikhail's heart skip a few beats, and he felt his own fucking breath catch in his throat as words so sincere left him speechless. If there was one thing Mikhail valued above all, it was honesty, something Akihito had by the bucket load.

 

Goodbye, restraint. So fucking long. It was never Mikhail’s forte, anyway.

 

Mikhail surged forward, one arm shot around Akihito’s waist to pull them chest to chest, despite the smaller frame; it was still solid and strong in his arms as it tensed in his embrace. Hazel eyes widened in surprise before he averted his face into Mikhail’s neck with one and scrunched into the mafia leader’s shirt, which made the scars stand out even more.

“Akihito.” he rumbled, soft, and oh, he fucking cherished how the person in his arms shuddered and relaxed at that. Even his body was honest. “Look at me.”

The head slowly came away from the crook of his neck, and Akihito half glared back at him with insecurity pinching his brow. Despite that, Akihito didn't look away, he was steadfast. Mikhail was really, really smitten. Yep.

Fuck, was he going to do this? Erase the image of that napkin, the person who Akihito thought he was, and replace it with something much worse? The monster under the bed, and that bump in the night?

“I’m not a respectable person, Akihito. I am actually a horrible person who you should run far and fast from, the truth is you shouldn’t trust me at all, because I am the most untrustworthy person you’ll ever have the displeasure of meeting.” jesus, his heart was fucking thrumming, and he still hadn’t got to the truth. It felt like he was tearing that napkin up bit by bit and letting it fly away in the St Petersburg breeze. He hated it. He hated letting this person that he'd known for only three fucking days, down.

“I… don’t believe you.” Akihito mumbled back, still meeting his eye with uncertainty because his statements were still unanswered, giving Mikhail a good excuse to play chicken and not follow through with the rest of his own story. Another day. Sorry, mother!

“The point is, Akihito, I like you. A lot.” the body relaxed more at that, funny, he had no problem telling Akihito his feelings, but telling him his career had him nervous as fuck. “So I want to hear it all, I want to know about you, everything about you. This is a date, and because I am greedy, I want more dates, even though you’re meant to be travelling. I’ll take anything I can get, and if you’ll give it to me, I’ll take even more.”

_I’ll take everything, and never give it back._

*****

Akihito’s fight or flight instincts were going crazy.

  
He’d finally figured out why. Control. The one thing in his life he’d always had. The thing his parents had tried to take from him time and time again, trying to shut him down with their ideals on life and education, taking away his choices even as an adult. Akihito cherished his control, control over his fists, control over the art he so carefully crafted with his scarred hands and delicate strokes of his wrists, control over his own education and his own future, control over his own image.  


He knew that Mikhail was capable of taking it all from him in a second, the look in his eye was ravenous, and he knew there was truth to what the man said. Despite the fact that Mikhail tried to say he was untrustworthy, Akihito could tell that what he was getting was the real thing. The real Mikhail.

 

Those grey eyes were dark, almost black as they looked at him, and no pencil or paint would ever be able to capture that shade of possessiveness, or that hue of controlled domination.   
He shivered, not because it was cold, and noticed how much smaller he really was compared to Mikhail, they seemed to fit together, the way that thick forearm encircled his waist, how calloused fingers splayed across the small of his back perfectly, and the way that expansive chest seemed to shield him from the oncoming breeze.

 

There would probably be no going back from this, he knew.

 

Going against his inner thoughts and the alarm bells in his head, he threw control to the wind, well to Mikhail more like, but then again it wasn’t like Mikhail was just taking it from him, he’d still given Akihito a choice still, and that was the deciding factor.

 

With a pensive breath, he let go of the pristine white shirt his hand was scrunched in, and snaked it up and around until his fingertips were threading through that soft blonde hair at the nape of Mikhail’s neck, the black pupils inside those irises contracted, and he was surprised to see goose bumps travel up the strong neckline as Mikhail waited, motionless.

If Akihito was honest with himself, he would admit that he was fucking terrified, he could still be denied, left hanging and alone on a fucking rooftop with no actual idea of where he was, it was the most scared he’d ever been in fact, he wanted to run, far, like Mikhail said he should.

  
  
The Russian was too overwhelming, too infectious, a force so great that it would be easy to get swept away, and you’d find yourself lost in that Siberian Blizzard that Akihito knew was inside this man. It was something barely controlled, and ready to be let loose at any time.   
  
But it wasn’t like him to run, he wasn’t a coward, and so he’d never show such an unsightly characteristic to this person, this person he knew next to nothing about.

Pulling an ounce of much needed bravery from the depths of his inner street kid, he held on to that solid neck for dear life, closed his eyes, and made the first move for once.

He leaned in for the kiss, and was instantly lost. Just like he knew he would be.

 

Mikhail seemed to snap, Akihito was pushed back onto the couch as he was devoured, they’d kissed before, but this was their first real kiss, it was dizzying, Mikhail’s tongue was insistent as it swept along his lip and forced entrance, the kisses were open mouthed, messy, urgent and loud between gasps for air and coherency.

 

The fingers on his back raked at his skin, desperate and starving, it was like Akihito weighed nothing at all to Mikhail as the immense strength in the arm holding him pulled him up flush against Mikhail’s toned frame.

 

Even now, he could feel Mikhail’s wilderness lurking underneath his restraint. The Russian had more strength than this, he could kiss harder, take all his breath, crush them together in his embrace, claw those hard working hands up his body and leave marks in their wake, he could tell that’s exactly what Mikhail wanted to do, but trembles of power kept in check shuddered through those straining muscles, and it told Akihito exactly how much Mikhail was struggling not to just drag them both under and forget everything else.

He held firm on Mikhail’s neck, the muscles underneath his fingers rippled up and down with the movement of jawlines and head tilts, the skin was smooth, soft, and he could smell him, musky cologne, with undertones of masculinity and power, the scent of Mikhail himself.

 

A groan bubbled up in his throat before he had the chance to stop it, and he was met with panic as the body on top of his went rigid, and Mikhail pulled away to stop.

Pits of grey oblivion regarded him through narrowed eyes, as if drinking in the image, Akihito didn’t know, couldn’t figure out why Mikhail had snapped out of it so quickly. Was this going to lead to rejection, after all?

A thunderous beat began in his chest, climbing up into his throat until it stole the moisture from his lips and words from his brain. He waited.

Then his world shifted again as Mikhail sighed, his body relaxed and that hand still cradling his back began massaging tender circles with its thumb.

“Fuck.” the Russian breathed. “You’re so…”

And this time it was Mikhail burying his face into the crook of Akihito’s neck, breathing heavy hot breaths onto his skin and kissing his jugular slowly with deliberate care, as if he was the one trying to reel himself back in and calm down.

“Sorry.” Mikhail mumbled into his neck eventually, his voice husky for reasons other than his Russian accent. “Nearly got carried away there.”

Akihito’s tongue stuck, heavy in his dry mouth. He tried to say something, but he was failing to come back down to earth as he kept staring at the St Petersburg twilight. He might as well have been mute anyway, because he didn’t know what he would say if he could actually summon the functionality of speaking.

A rush of air on his neck tickled his skin as Mikhail sighed and pulled back, the hand on his back retreated reluctantly, and caged him in when Mikhail rested both his forearms either side of ribs.

Those grey pupils had lightened, they were less ominous now, gentle, endearing almost.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to reciprocate.” came the blunt confession.

“I… um, why?” even asking a question as simple as that had him feeling awkward, especially because he had no where to look other than those grey eyes with the sky of St Petersburg overhead. It was like his whole world was encompassed in this vision, and his mind flashed back to the sketch of the clouds he’d done, with that silver lining in the middle.

“Because, it means you return my feelings.” blunt once more, there really was no hiding from this person.

“It’s only been three days…” Akihito tried side tracking it instead.

Mikhail’s weight suddenly bore down on him, chests to groins touching, their faces a finger's breadth apart, grey eyes swallowed him, it was all he could see, and all he could do not to look away.

“Akihito… for someone like me, when I want something, three days is a long time. I’m not a man to be kept waiting. Do you understand?” the voice coming from Mikhail now was low, intimidating, and it vibrated down to his bones. It was fucking thrilling on a primal scale, to think someone like Mikhail liked him back.

Once again, any words died on his tongue, and all he got out between dry swallows was a quiet “Yeah. I... like you too.” he might as well return the feelings good and proper, even if he couldn’t quite pin what those feelings were exactly.

Then his world was fucking spinning again, the tension was literally whisked away with that breeze, and Mikhail beamed down at him, with his perfect straight teeth and lines of glee at the corners of his eyes.

“See! That wasn’t so hard, was it?!” the Russian taunted with a chuckle in his face, but then he sat up, and the weight was gone, in more ways than one. He could breathe, he could think, he could function now that Mikhail wasn’t stealing his every attention. Fuck. This would totally be the death of him.

Following Mikhail, he sat up too, scratched his head, and hoped like hell the difficulty would be worth it.

*****

Mikhail had never been both this relieved, and wound up, ever.

On one hand, Akihito had taken the initiative to kiss him, to let down his weary guard despite all the things Mikhail told him, and let him in. That was fucking amazing in itself, a completely different feeling to breaking someone and forcing them to spill all their secrets, this was… actually fulfilling on an entirely new level. Like he was an actual human capable of feelings things other than antagonistic desires for chaos or control. He liked to mix it up, sometimes.

On the other hand though. That kiss. _That fucking kiss._ Were people actually made for other people? Did movie makers, and writers know something about that, that other people didn’t?

Never had someone responded to him so genuinely, oh, other boys and girls could act at the start, Mikhail would still have them begging before they knew what’d come over them. But, the way his own hips nestled in between those long legs, how their bodies just slot together, Akihito’s fingers in his hair, and his quiet gasps as they parted for moments of breath.

Holy fucking shit, he felt like a teenager full of hormones all over again.

And then the noise from Akihito’s throat, which only served to strain him more, and snap him out of it at the same time.

His mother would literally shoot him, probably in the foot or something because she played nasty like that, if he’d taken that path.

He’d be a total asshole if he’d just convinced Akihito to open up to him, and then ignored it to fuck him on the lounger instead.

So, they liked each other. It meant they could still cuddle and shit, right? That’s what people who liked each other did on actual dates, wasn’t it? Oh well, it was an excuse enough to Mikhail.

He just laughed at the look of surprise on Akihito’s face as he sat back, and then pulled the Japanese with him onto his lap, they could talk like this still, after all.

“So, will you tell me more about you now, hm? For everything you say, I can give you a kiss?” and he threw in his most charming smile, and relished the way Akihito pretty much fell to sputtering pieces in his lap.

“T-that won’t be necessary.” came the pout down at him. “I’d tell you anyway. Probably.”

“Yeah. But a reason for kisses is nice, no?” he smirked, to make his point, he took one of the arms draped around his neck, trailed his fingers down to that colorful crimson hand, and kissed the source of his curiosity, those scarred knuckles. “Akihito.” he mumbled against the battle marred skin, “Tell me about these. Please.”

It seemed to calm the artist, a balme on whatever memories he relived as he thought, so Mikhail was only happy to oblige and keep going, because instead of blushing or fidgeting, it meant Akihito was getting used to this.

“So.” Akihito began, almost distantly, and Akihito seemed to take himself to another place as he finally began to get personal with Mikhail, and tell him about his life.

He kissed his knuckles as he listened, going over each one, pressing his lips against each bony protrusion before moving on, never taking his eyes off Akihito all the while.

“My old man is this respectable DA right, and the old lady is this renowned doctor, our family is pretty, um, whatever you call it, respected in upper class circles, all that fucking societal ranking bullshit. It doesn’t mean shit to me. Because it’s all a lie, but, never mind about that….” there was a long pause as Akihito had another inner battle with himself.

“Akihito. I’m not gonna think worse of you.” _It’s me I’m afraid you’re going to think worse of._ It seemed to do the trick though, he got a smile full of nostalgia and melancholy, then Akihito surged ahead.   
The Russian made a note in the back of his head though, to find out what Akihito meant about it all being a lie. Seemed like a slip of the tongue, but there was more behind it than that if the scowl on that suddenly aged face was anything to go by.  


“Anyway. So my parents had all these expectations of me when I was growing up, I was never that smart, ain’t no way I could have gotten into law or medical school like they wanted. All I wanted to do, ever, was to draw, or paint, or take pictures and create something to sink into. As I got older, they noticed, and suddenly I couldn’t have any more paint sets, sketchbooks got taken away, anything in the house that detracted from ‘real studies’ as they called it, got taken away. I think I was like, fucking 12, they just took it all one day, and went back to work like usual. Neither of them were ever home, I think there was one week I had cup noodles for dinner every night in middle school.” Mikhail felt the beginnings of rage curl in his gut as he listened. The difference in their families was like black and white. No one should treat their kid like that. Mikhail valued his parents and above all, respected them. That was not the relationship Akihito had with his parents at all.  


“Sorry! Back to the point.” Akihito’s nervous laughter brought him around, “So, when it got to middle school, I guess looking back on it now, you could say I turned into a right little shit. But at the time I didn’t give a fuck. I’d go out, steal spray cans and find the most gang riddled neighbourhood, and spray my art all over their hideous tagging. Haha oh, those were the days.” Akihito shifted in his lap then, relaxing more as he stretched his legs out over the couch, and leant sideways a little more against his chest.

“It’s obvious where it’s going now, right?”

“Mm, but I still want you to tell me.” Mikhail teased, because there was no way Akihito was getting out of it now.

“Argh. Fine.” came the huff. “Well, people never took too well with getting their shit sprayed over, even though people stopped to take photos of the murals and collages I used to spray everywhere. It always led back to me. That’s where the fighting came in… Ugh, I’ve never talked about this.... At one point there, it became less about art, and more about picking a fight with anything that would swing a fist my way. I was a really angry little bastard, thugs, gangs, the cops, my dad. You name it. I punched it. Mom would patch me up after the old man got any charges cleared using his dodgy ass connections and picked me up, then I’d be off the next weekend doing it all over again. Fuck. I was so angry at everything.” a silent snarl curled Akihito’s lip then, surprising Mikhail at the sheer feralness of it.  
  
  
The Koi fish tattoo on one arm, and the dragon on the other suddenly made sense, Akihito had found balance within himself, he’d changed from that person he was talking about, he knew when to be calm like serene fish in a pond, and when to fight and be angry like a rage fueled dragon. This person had so many more facets than what Mikhail first thought.   
He wasn’t often awestruck, but Akihito had managed to render him just that three days running now.

“It’s ok, Akihito. Go on.”

The Japanese shifted again, and looked down at one of his hands as he did so, turning his fist, inspecting the silvery blemishes, almost detached now.

“In senior high, that’s when it s-started to get real fucking bad. I was pretty out of control, if I think about it now. Sometimes there were knife fights and broken bones, not the regular fist fights I’d always known, I’d grown, and so did the people I picked a bone with, and the cycle just kept repeating, either fight with the local lowlifes until I couldn’t stand, or fight the cops if they came first. I guess that’s when the scarring really became permanent.”

Mikhail braced himself for more, “Then what happened?”

“Saji, my old man, used to try and discipline me the old fashioned way, and being the feral that I was, used to just end up fighting him too, and then the neighbours started getting suspicious about the  DA and his son coming to blows in the fancy house at the top of the street. Guess it made him look bad. That’s when he put the deal to me. Finish high school with passing marks, go to uni and do whatever I wanted, stay out of trouble, graduate, and then he’d get me out of his hair with this trip. So that’s what I did. There were some fucking close calls along the way, with yakuza and people that still had a grudge, but I graduated with honors, Major in Art and minor in english studies, and long story short, here I am.”   
  
Mikhail’s heart fucking clenched, not at the story, Akihito didn’t want a pity party, but at the memory of Akihito staring up at the sky in front of the cathedral with the same tranquil smile on his face that he wore now.

That moment had been an important one after all. And Mikhail had been there to see it. Suddenly he felt honored, that Akihito would share the first days of his achievement with him of all people.

“Um, say something, please.” Akihito’s ass fidgeted nervously on his thighs.

Mikhail couldn’t resist, he threw his arms around that slender waist and squeezed, “You’re something else, you know.”

“Is that good, or bad?” came the deadpan.

“It’s fucking awesome. Not many people would be able to do what you did, and have the outlook on life you have now, you know.” because it was true, it wasn’t that easy, to break old ties and move forward.

There was a cute head tilt as Akihito thought about it, “I guess, I’d never thought about it that way. If I think about it, it doesn’t even feel like it was me at the time. Like, it’s just something that happened and in my memories I’m on the outside looking in, it doesn’t affect me now. Much anyway.”  


“Mm. I know exactly how that feels.” he admitted quietly, every person he killed, every violent act, at the time he’d be fueled enough by ambition to just get shit done, but looking back on all those scenes now, the dead bodies and begging captives, it was just like what Akihito described. A detached memory through someone elses eyes.

  
For someone far younger than him, younger than most really, Akihito could say some terribly insightful things. There was so much more of him to explore, with clues and words dropped as they talked tonight that had Mikhail’s fingers itching to just order a background check and he’d know most of it, especially on the pathetic excuses of people Akihito called his parents. Oh, he wouldn’t mind getting their files at all, but, he kept telling himself that’s not how he was going to play this time. He’d wait until Akihito told him instead.

Then there was this enormous source of mental fortitude, another reason he was probably insanely attracted to this person right from the very start. He could see it in people’s expression, that internal animal that fueled people, he’d seen it in Akihito right off the bat.

“Hey!” Mikhail asked suddenly, startling Akihito, who jumped on his lap.

“Y-yeah?”

“When you drew me on that napkin, was that the first thing you drew on this trip?” that napkin was still on his nightstand, he’d probably never throw it out.

The awkward groan, and shameful slump of Akihito’s shoulders answered that question. “Maybe.”

Signs, fate, whatever people called that shit, Mikhail didn’t believe in it one bit, but he couldn’t help but think it couldn’t be a coincidence, that at that time of morning, he’d gone into the cafe that Akihito was at, caught his eye, and just so happened to be walking back out as a timely breeze carried that napkin to his feet.

“Heh. I feel special then!” Mikhail chuckled, coincidence my ass, it was a goddamn sign is what it was.

“Don’t let it get to your head.” Akihito snarked over his embarrassment.

“Too late.” he grinned back. “You said you like me. Can’t take it back now, nyah.” oh, it was so fun to tease this person.

“... Don’t mock me, oi! Um, so then-”  


Whatever Akihito was about to say was interrupted as the noise of the rooftop door opening cut him off, and Yuri appeared.   
Mikhail fought the urge to issue the order for Yuri to get the fuck back down onto a lower floor. His explicit orders were that he not be disturbed. But he couldn’t show his mafia boss face to Akihito yet, so he simmered inside, and held a tense Akihito tighter as Yuri approached.  

  
“What is it?” he barked in Russian. Akihito wanted off, he could tell, he looked away awkwardly at being caught in such a compromising position, but Mikhal didn’t care who found out.   
He gave that waist another reassuring squeeze, feeling possessive and selfish, like a child that didn’t want to let go of their new teddy.

“It’s urgent, Misha.” Yuri dared a glance at Akihito, as if to say he wouldn’t say more in front of an outsider even if he was speaking their native tongue.

That stubborn old bastard. If he wasn’t so fucking good at his job, Mikhail would have gotten rid of him years ago. Fuck it. If Yuri said it was urgent then it was urgent.

“I’ll be down in a moment, leave us.” he managed to grit out in a semblance of normal, and not murderous crime boss like. He was not sulking that his Akihito time had been interrupted. Not one bit. Fucking dumb job, getting in the way and shit.

“Is everything - mmph”

Probably more upset than a man his age should be, Mikhail pulled Akihito down for another kiss, things were just getting good, they were both talking, and then this had to happen.

He didn’t want to leave just yet, even if it was only for a moment to see what was going on, so he put all his intentions in that kiss, controlling it from start to finish, loving the way Akihito could only respond by grabbing on and opening his mouth to let him in.

Oh, this was really fucking addicting.

With much, so so much reluctance, he parted and groaned inwardly as he caught sight of Akihito’s just been kissed breathless face. That was not fair at all.

“Something’s just come up with work.” he said, their faces still close enough to kiss again, “I’ll be back in a flash.” finishing off the reassurance, he leant in for another quick peck.

“Alright then.” Akihito said, confused as he left Mikhail’s lap and slid onto the couch.

Mikhail didn’t like that skeptical expression, not on Akihito, “When I get back, I’ll tell you a little something about me, kay?”

The expression vanished, “Okay.” Akihito breathed, and he looked at Mikhail like he would have looked at the Mikhail on the napkin, with admiration and appreciation, and the Bratva leader couldn’t help but feel like a guilty fucking liar as he shut the rooftop door behind him with a resounding click, because what he was going to sort out with his ‘work’ was not one bit admirable, and not nearly respectable enough to warrant any appreciation.

Fuck. This might be harder than he thought.

*****

Yuri had indeed made the right call, still didn’t make him any less pissed. In fact, it only made him more pissed, the Swiss were playing up with their end of the trade agreement big time, and it’d taken half an hour of threats and phone calls for it to be sorted to Mikhail’s short term satisfaction.  


There was going to be a few people he’d have to shoot in the next few days to really sort it out, but it wasn’t something he could do now. The men could see he wasn’t pleased, they stayed far out of the way as he stepped passed them to the stairwell to get back to the roof.

  
He was actually really fucking pissed. Because this cock up would take him out of St Petersburg for the next couple of days. And well, it was bloody obvious why that would make him angry.

But, he needed to put on his big boy pants as his Ma would say, suck it up and just deal with it. He couldn’t afford to be led by emotions, and well, for Mikhail, it was pretty easy for that to happen. Spur of the moment, Carpe Diem, no regrets, he was that sort of guy, to an extent. It drove everyone mad, and that only made it more fun for him!

That didn’t mean shit right now though, he took the stairs two at a time until he made it to the rooftop platform, let out his last angry breath, and opened the door.

It was nearly 11pm, but the sky was still trapped in its perpetual dusk, St Petersburg really never failed to soothe him. It’s why he chose to live here, after all.

But this setting was even better than looking out from the balcony of his apartment. He could see his city in all it’s historic glory from this rooftop, the canals, the cathedrals with their multicolored domes and bright paint work, it’s why he’d picked this place to bring Akihito. To say he was happy with the Japaneses’ reaction was an understatement.

However, a sight better than all that greeted him under the canvas canopy where he’d spent his evening.

Akihito was fast asleep, sprawled carelessly on his back along the lounger, his ashen blonde bangs had swept over his face while the rest of his hair stood in every direction.

His mouth parted in a little ‘o’ as he breathed softly, and shifted in his sleep. One arm fell to dangle off the edge of the furniture, stretched out for Mikhail to see the pair of fish tattooed on his arm, reflecting the current state of their bearer, he thought.

The Hermitage all day, and then the evening eating and talking, not to mention the emotional strain of talking about his past to Mikhail, so now with a full stomach and some beer in his system, Akihito was out for the count. He was so fucking cute it hurt.   
  
Whipping out his phone, he flipped it open and snapped a few shots of that blissed out sleeping face.

“It can’t be helped then.” Mikhail smiled. “I’ll have to tell you about myself another day.”


	11. Chapter 11

Akihito was seriously disoriented when he woke up, that incredible tired had pulled him under, and he’d woken up without a clue what day it was, did he have any assignments due today, why hadn’t his alarm gone off, and why was this ceiling not the ugly white peeling paint of his apartment in Tokyo?

 

It took him a few seconds before he put it all together, oh. That’s right, he was in Moscow on his trip and _oh._ It all hit him at once, he’d _fallen asleep!_

Last night. The date, food, drink, the goddam snails! Then there was the way Mikhail touched him under the twilight sky, kissed the scars on his knuckles with lips that were way too soft, the confessions that reminded him way too much of high school, spilling his guts to this stranger but most of all the kiss that had him touching his lips just remembering how it felt.  
He could recall how Mikhail licked his lips before he leant in to moisten that fucking kiss, that kiss that was exactly like being caught in a riptide, Mikhail was this immense current, who could drown you if he so chose, and Akihito had been so close to getting swept away in the grey tides of those Russian eyes. But it was never a good idea to try and swim against a riptide, isn’t that what people always said anyway?

 

He still remembers clear as fucking day; the hot urge he had to roll his hips up against that firm body and he groaned because his morning wood wasn’t just there because it was morning.

 

That’s when another thing hit him; he lifted up his blankets to indeed confirm that he had no clothes on apart from his briefs, and _who undressed him?!_

 

Fuck. Just fuck. He must have been so out of it, so bone tired that Mikhail had taken him back to the hotel and he hadn’t even stirred, and here Akihito was, staring at the pristine white roof as he mentally face palmed himself the _next fucking morning._

 

Good one, Akihito! He scolded himself, what a way to wreck a good date, and holy shit Mikhail had actually called it a date back then but what did he think now that he’d done a sleeping but not beauty on the guy and had zonked out on him. Oh fuck, what if he’d snored, or dribbled, sometimes he had a tenancy to sleep mumble too, and oh no what if he still sucked his thumb in his sleep?

 

Rather than think about how incredibly unsettled it all made him, because Akihito couldn’t actually remember the last time anything made him this flustered; he smothered himself with his pillow, and relaxed at the smell of freshly laundered linen and soft cotton caressing his face.

 

Maybe he could stay like this for like, six centuries or something until it all went away.

 

Why was it so hard? Something about Mikhail had him on edge but wanting to let loose all at the same time and it was so confusing, especially when those grey eyes looked at him, the same color as the sky above the horizon, and devoured every inch of your attention. Mikhail never even bothered to hide the way he looked at Akihito, and it made him fucking self conscious, talk about inferiority complex.

 

“Argh!” in a fit of annoyance at his own pathetic self, he threw the pillow across the room where it hit the wall with much less impact than he wanted, and he was just left feeling more annoyed.

 

A thin slice of St Petersburg sun invaded the room through a slit in the curtains, and highlighted a line of dust across his vision, the little specks sparkled as they floated in and then out of that stripe of warm luminosity.  
Akihito found himself reaching out to the sliver of light as if to catch it, so he could pocket the sunshine for a time when he might need it, and he startled as it highlighted his scars and then the crimson on the back of his hand. He felt like he was staring at a silver lining for the first time in his life.  
Those scars and dreadful memories that went with them, and everything led to him growing up to put a symbol of his country on the back of his hand had led him here, to Russia where the sun was trying to burst through the curtains and light up his life, just like it lit up the worthless flecks of dust and gave them a brilliance that no one thought dust would ever be capable of.

 

He shouldn’t think too much about it, not about the implications of what that actually meant, no, because he’d only been here what, four days now? It felt like hardly any time at all, and he still had no fucking idea what he was gonna do, he remembered the possessive eyes roaming over his face and shivered, he’d like to think he had a choice, but those eyes the color of dangerous gunmetal told him something different entirely.

 

That brought Akihito to the moment when that older dude came up to the rooftop, and the way Mikhail had acted then, he’d been sitting on his lap and he _felt_ the way the man’s demeanor shifted as he spoke in harsh, grating Russian to the stone faced dude that set Akihito on edge.

 

His instincts had literally screamed at the top of their lungs at that moment, run, get out, fly away, danger, danger! And Akihito had no clue why, but he remembered the feeling well enough from years ago, from being chased, when he was dragged back to the yakuza head, he remembered the chilling way the boss spoke to his subordinates, and that was the exact feeling Akihito had at that moment.

 

As soon as it’d come though, it dissolved into embarrassed awkwardness as Mikhail snaked his arms around his waist and clasped his arms together in Akihito’s lap. He knew Mikhail was full on, in your face and as about as subtle as a bull in a china shop, but they’d only just met and that was pretty fucking intimate for two men to be in front of someone else.

 

It made him a little bit happy though, happy in a way that made him wish he had his pillow back so he could smother his blush, because that had to mean Mikhail was serious right? As shy as the Russian made him, he was still curious as all hell, it’d been Misha’s turn to talk and he’d just gone and fallen asleep. The things Mikhail said raced through his mind over and over, and his interest mounted higher still as he continued daydreaming while looking at the sparkles of dust in the light.

 

His face palm was real this time as he gave up trying to decipher it all, and the audible slap timed perfectly with the start of his phone ringing on his nightstand. He shot out of bed in fright to scrabble after it in surprise, dropped in on the carpet and half fell out of bed to retrieve it as it bounced under the bedframe. Fuck. He was an actual mess of a human being. With a huff, he looked at who was calling; and of course it’d be the Russian himself ringing, least it wasn’t his father.

 

“Moshi moshi.” He answered without even thinking, and then quickly changed because that was Japanese, “Ah, hello I mean.” He sputtered to correct himself.

 

 _“Oho, so cute. Moshi moshi.”_ The amused voice rolled the words around on his tongue in thought before continuing. “ _Good morning my sleeping adorable punk!”_ the voice sing songed, _“Just making sure you’re awake and not actually dead, because you seemed to be last night. You sleep like a fucking corpse.”_

 

“Ah, yeah, sorry about that.” Akihito scratched his head shyly, even though Mikhail couldn’t see.

 

 _“Na, don’t mind it. Your camo briefs are really delightful, by the way.”_ The voice said as if he hadn’t just implied that Mikhail undressed him last night.

 

All Akihito could do was flail around on the bed as his mouth opened and closed in its attempt to find words. Shit. He was embarrassed, but it didn’t raise alarm bells like he thought it would, he didn’t get the feeling of unease like he’d been molested in his sleep or anything, in fact he was glad because he would have had a seriously shitty sleep otherwise. Sleeping with jeans on was actually the most uncomfortable thing anyone could ever do, in his mind.

 

 _“Akihito.”_ This time it was a serious tone, low and earnest, exactly the tone he’d used last night when Mikhail said that he liked him, among other things.

 

It cut Akihito out of his shame quick smart, it was almost as if that voice had strings tied to his limbs and could stop him in his tracks.

 

“Y-yeah?”

 

 _“I’m serious. You’re fucking gorgeous it’s all I can think about. You have no idea how much I wanted to curl up beside you last night and just watch your sleeping face.”_ the wistful, even regretful sigh seemed to permeate through the phone’s earpiece and the sound sent goose bumps down his neck, as if Mikhail was right there, breathing on his skin. If he closed his eyes, he could almost picture it. And fuck if it wasn’t a nice picture he didn’t know what was. And that was coming from a fucking artist.

 _“I’m sorry I had to leave you for so long that you fell asleep, I feel like I wrecked it.”_ There he goes again, so straightforward with saying things like that, as if it were everyday conversation and spilling your innermost thoughts was the same as eating and breathing.

But it was relief he felt the most, because it didn’t sound like Mikhail was annoyed with him at all, and he hadn’t realized how much he was worried about it until now.

 

“Ah, it’s fine, I’m sorry I fell asleep, and ah, thank you for taking me back to my room. Did you sort everything out that you had to?” Akihito hoped he had, he wanted to see Mikhail again, and again, and make him take more days off work, even if he would never ask the man to do so anyway. Infatuation could make someone incredibly selfish, and this was only the beginning.

 

Mikhail grumbled something, before speaking up in an appeasing tone. _“No.”_ it almost sounded as if he were pouting, _“I’ve had to go out of town for a few days to sort it all out.”_

“Oh.”He said without thinking again, and he knew his disappointment bled through.

 

 _“I want to see you, Akihito.”_ Came another blunt confession, _“So please don’t go seducing anyone else with your art and charm in three days, because I get jealous really fucking easy.”_

The frown on his face was wiped clean off, Mikhail, jealous? He burst out laughing before he could help it, what did someone like that ever have to be jealous of?

 

 _“Oi! Don’t laugh! I’m serious. If anyone touches you I will fucking beat them to a pulp. Kapeesh?”_ and he could hear Mikhail chuckle as well, even though Akihito still knew he was dead serious, the man’s macho commentary just veiled the very real threat.

 

“Kepeesh.” Akihito laughed back in agreement, not really thinking about the significance of what he’d just agreed to, but it seemed to please Mikhail though, because the satisfied hum that came through the line filled his bones with warmth. It was astonishing how the tone of the Russians voice could dissolve all his unease, and he felt like he could talk normally.

 

_“Good, and you better prepare for the best fucking date of your life when I get back. Red roses, and wine, and a string quartet-_

“Haha, no no no no!” Akihito guffawed all through his protests as Mikhail mocked him with what wasn’t either of their idea of a good date, even though neither of them really dated. But if last night was anything to go by, then their tastes did indeed match up incredibly well.

 

_“Hehe, just kidding! That would be lame-o, no, what I’ve got in store is miles better than any of that old fogey bullshit.”_

 

“Oh, tell me!” Akihito was beyond curious, because Mikhail seemed pretty smug with this so called date of theirs coming up.

 

_“Nope. You’ll have to wait.”_

“Argh!” he huffed again for the second time that morning, and Mikhail’s booming laughter in response didn’t help.

 

 _“Well, at least I know that means you want a second date, hm?”_ Mikhail was testing him now; Akihito knew the man was looking for honesty for some reason, instead of him shying away in his answer.

 

It was already all out in the open anyway, so what was Akihito really worrying about? Saying he wanted a second date wasn’t nearly as bad as saying all the things he’d said last night, and Mikhail had this way of unraveling all his uncertainties to cast them aside, just like now.

 

“If you’re asking, then I suppose I could make some time, I’m pretty busy you know.” he drawled smoothly, all the while he tried to stop himself from giggling like some love struck teen who senpai had finally noticed.

 

 _“Why you cheeky little! Haha. You wanna play that way, huh? Please your lordship; spare this peasant a moment of your time so that he may sweep you off your feet with his humble personage.”_ In his head; Akihito could practically see Mikhail bowing as he played along, with a gracious sweep of his hand for good measure.

“Humble, my ass!” he countered, because that word and Misha would never go together, ever.

 

_“I will humble your ass if you don’t hurry up and say yes, don’t leave a man hanging. It’s mean.”_

 

 _So fucking cute!_ Akihito couldn’t help but think because it definitely sounded like Mikhail was whining a little bit about it, like he was actually nervous Akihito would say no. Now he knew why the Russian got a kick out of winding him up, because it was hella fun.

 

“I’d like a second date… a lot.” there was something liberating about admitting it, maybe if he shouted it from a rooftop it’d feel even better? Because all his regret from thinking he’d fucked up last night vanished, and the dust particles in front of him continued to dance in the small streak of light.

 

 _“Yeah. Me too.”_ It sounded like Mikhail was just as relieved as he was. _“So give me three days? And then we’ll pick up where we left off.”_

“Mm, alright then.” Swinging out of bed before he even really thought about it, he started busying himself with finding art supplies and things to do, he needed to keep himself busy or three days was going to take forever. What better way to pass the time than art, where even a week could pass in the blink of an eye?

 

_“I’m looking forward to it, just so you know.”_

“Me too.”

 

_“Good, that’s so fucking good. I’ll text you when I can, kay. And stay out of trouble, ya rebel!”_

His sketchbook and pencils clattered across the floor when Akihito dropped them, “Shut up! I will.”

 

 _“I can see that cute little pout on your lips from here, haha. Talk soon, okay?”_ Mikhail practically chirped, he sounded pretty happy.

 

“Okay. Later.”

 

He listened to the steady breathing on the other line for a few moments, and realized that Misha must have been doing the same on his end, before he finally decided it was time to hang up.

 

Three days was sure going to take a while, and he wondered if Mikhail could see the same sunlight from wherever he was too.

 

 

******

 

 

Mikhail ended the call with a smile tugging at his lip, he felt renewed motivation to get his work done in Moscow so he could get back to St Petersburg as soon as he could.

 

That phone call had really changed his mood, this morning the only word to describe Mikhail Arbatov was livid, and it’d taken a 5-minute talk with Akihito to calm him down. Mostly because Akihito had pretty much agreed not to see anyone else, and to Mikhail that closed the deal, they were an item now even if Akihito might be a bit slow to catch up on it.  
What Akihito didn’t know though, was that anyone who touched him wouldn’t just get beaten to a pulp, they’d be fucking erased off the face of the earth. Mikhail had no problem admitting he got jealous easy, he was a naturally possessive person; it was a goddam necessity for someone in his position after all.

 

He still hadn’t stopped thinking about last night, the ease in which they laughed, Akihito’s history, the real truth behind those scars and the resilience that came with it, his parents and everything he’d gone through to get to Russia.

 

Mikhail still wanted to know more, well, he wanted to know everything actually – and all night he’d agonized still over just giving his connections the word and having it all delivered to him on a bit of paper. He hadn’t though, yet.

 

“Argh.” He huffed as he remembered those hazel eyes flashing in the dusk colored night, absolutely fucking mesmerizing, the feel of the limber body in his arms had been too.

 

He didn’t even want to think about anything further, about the kiss that Akihito had initiated, and how pliant he’d been at his touch. Fuck. Just fuck. He deserved a fucking medal for being a responsible date and taking him back to his room without doing something extremely perverted.  
Multiple times this morning he’d found himself day dreaming; that pale skin was so soft, his sleeping face was so peaceful and welcoming, and it truthfully had taken every ounce of his already frayed self control not to hop into bed beside the Japanese to watch him until morning.

 

And he was fucking day dreaming again already!

 

The sun shone on a square patch of concrete through the open warehouse door where he stood, and he relished the way it changed the color of the grey concrete from something dark and shadowed into something warm and light. Just like what the sun did to that drawing of his likeness on the napkin that was still on his nightstand.

 

“Ah, this definitely isn’t normal!” he was talking to himself, and groaned as he placed the screen of his phone against his forehead in vexation.

 

Around him; people looked at the Russian mob leader as if they’d never seen him before, they’d seen him laugh maliciously, mockingly and everything in between, but they’d never seen him laugh freely with mirth, or smile a smile that went all the way to his eyes. And they couldn’t decide if it was terrifying or not.

 

“Oi, do you have a goddam eye problem?” Mikhail barked in the concrete warehouse at everyone. He was met with a chorus of nervous ‘no sirs,’ and the like.

 

“Then get back to fucking work.” His growl sent everyone scuffling to do their job.

 

It was definitely terrifying, all the men decided as they hurried to avoid the predatory grey eyes roaming the building.

 

With his men put back in their place, he decided on one last quick message to someone, with a photo attached that he’d taken last night. Because he couldn’t help but gloat, and he wanted to tell _someone,_ Yuri hadn’t been very happy for him, this person would be though.

 

It read:

> _To mother dearest, you’ll be happy to know I secured a second date! Bet you didn’t think I could do that :P here is a picture of my sleeping beauty, isn’t he cute? I know you’re jealous._

With a snicker and wicked glean in his eye, he pocketed his phone without waiting on a reply, his mom always took ages to message back anyway.

 

It wasn’t until a few hours later, after he’d sunk himself into sorting out the business plan gone awry – which also worked as a good distraction from those day dreams; that his phone went off in his pocket.

 

> _From: Mumsy._

_Misha, he’s adorable! Please don’t do anything to scare him off, I want to meet my future son in law. :P_

“Che! That old bag getting ahead of herself!” he felt himself bristle, a response only a son could have to something ridiculous a parent could say.

 

But he had to admit; this entire thing was making him feel ridiculous things.

 

Already he was scheming irrational things in his head, how could he make Akihito think of only him, so much so that he’d never want to leave?

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ship them so hard, you guys…

Finally. Today was the day Mikhail came back.

 

The plush velvet curtains in his new room were pulled open with those fancy satin ties on either side, and the French doors that led to the balcony with its cast iron balustrade and view of St Petersburg were thrown open.

 

Soothing sounds from the streets crept in, the whoosh of cars going passed on the road, the ting of shop bells as doors opened and closed, raucous laughter from the group of women having a lunch time catch up outside the café a few buildings down. It sounded scandalous, and Akihito was pretty curious as to what they were all cackling about.

 

Fresh air burst in every now and then and ran over his body as he lay staring at the ceiling on the huge bed in front said doors, it ruffled his clothing and made the edges of the curtain flap as the fabric tried to break free of its ties. It was so weirdly comforting, like that fucking curtain was just as impatient as he was.

This bed was fucking huge, its sheets with a million billion thread count or whatever, and duvet that was as light as the clouds in the sky and way softer than the grass in front of the cathedral he’d laid down in front of when he first got here.

 

Really it was a sweet bed.

 

His room had been upgraded free of charge all of a sudden, he’d gone down to the lobby to extend his booking – indefinitely because he had to be honest with himself, he didn’t know how long he was going to be here for now – when the woman at the front desk practically jumped as if he’d ordered her with a fucking gun at her head and then announced the upgrade for his prolonged stay.

 

He wasn’t one for complaining, but this was one hell of an upgrade – he even ran back down to the lobby to check they’d actually got it right, and yup; apparently they had.

 

So he had this awesome new dig, with the really awesome bed and massive spa bath, but he couldn’t bring himself to relax one bit.

 

Mikhail was coming back today, and even though he’d filled in the time for the passed two days by doing all the things that tourists did in St Petersburg, all it was, was a distraction. Today he spent in his room, wallowing in his impatience.

 

“Ah, when did I become such a sop?” He sighed to himself, and rolled so that from here he could see the sky and the tops of buildings that sprawled over the city. Colorful domes of traditional buildings, grey brick, and gold spires mixed with the horizon – Russia in all its glory was out there and all he could think about was something else.

 

He’d even been checking his phone more often, including smiling like an idiot whenever a text from Mikhail came through. This really wasn’t like him. Ugh!

 

Soon, about five minutes until he’d be here, according to when Mikhail said he’d be picked up.

 

He didn’t know if he wanted to pace around in the living room with its Persian rugs and huge ass vase decorations so he could answer the door quickly and not keep the Russian waiting, or if he should chill in the sleeping quarters and take a while so it didn’t look like he was actually waiting for him like some nervous date.

 

“Oh!” he shot out of bed and ran actually, because his room had been moved and Mikhail didn’t know about that, so he’d be waiting forever because he’d be knocking on the door to an empty suite.

 

“Shit.” He slipped some shoes on and made for the door as he looked at the time, he might already be down there!

 

Of course he tripped on the edge of one of those damn rugs as he launched himself across the room, and stumbled all the way to the door before righting himself in time, he ripped the brass handled door open in a hurry, not even taking the time to catch his breath and of course because his life was a _fucking movie_ he barged right into the muscled chest of the person he’d been waiting for.

 

In the split second before they collided he saw that Mikhail had his hand in mid air, probably two seconds away from knocking – and he had this startled ‘o’ to his mouth and glimmer in his eye that said his surprise could be labeled a pleasant one.

 

Akihito didn’t even have time to collect himself, not one moment to recover or better yet just stare at Mikhail for a bit, because with a chuckle the arm that had been about to knock on his door shot out and snaked around his waist – and even now he was still surprised at how well it fit there.

 

He was pulled intimately close, the heat of Mikhail’s skin under his shirt radiated, he could smell his cologne, a little different from the other day – this one was more musky, earthy and sweet all at the same time. It was intoxicating in itself.

 

“You’re that eager to go out with me that you are running out the door, hm?” the hot tease was whispered into the top of his head, and the resulting shiver travelled from his neck all the way down to his toes.

 

“N-no, I mean yes!” Akihito leant back to stutter, only because Mikhail wasn’t letting go, in fact his grip only got tighter, “I thought you wouldn’t know where my new room was so I came to get you.”

 

Those ashen pupils looked down at him in laughter, and the way Mikhail’s lip curled when he smirked was really, seriously sexy, he decided now that he got to see it close up again. No matter how many times he’d tried to draw that face, nothing would ever compare to the real thing.

 

“Oh… About that! The counter staff told me when I asked, so here I am.” The other arm snaked around his waist then, squeezing as it did so. “Do I get a kiss now? Three days is a long time and I need you to invigorate me cos I’m _sooo_ tired.” The laughter was gone from his features now, and he was met with steel intensity and Akihito realized that Mikhail was dead serious. He wanted Akihito to make the first move again.

 

It didn’t take him as long to decide as last time, Mikhail kept in touch for three days, had rung when he could, he hadn’t forgotten him or gotten tired of him no less, he’d been brewing in his own anticipation for three damn days so of course he could fucking do this.

 

Before his eyes shut; Akihito savored the sight as he brought his arm up and wrapped the crimson of his hand around the nape of Misha’s neck to pull him down. There was something fulfilling about seeing his tattooed skin contrast with Mikhail’s, and the fact that Mikhail moved down to meet him was near unthinkable. This absolute huge presence of a person before him was bending down at his prompt to kiss _him._

 

Surely he was hearing things though, because that in no way was a relieved sigh leaving Mikhail’s lips just as they made contact, right there at the door where anyone who walked by in the hallway could see.

 

It started off soft, their lips simply touching until it turned into slow open-mouthed kisses without urgency but with shared breath between them instead. The obscene noises their mouths were making echoed in his ears, and really he could probably kiss like this forever. There was no urgency in it, no feeling threatening to drive him insane, just the amazingness of kissing and being kissed – to feel Mikhail’s insanely soft lips and enjoy them for all they were worth.

 

Eventually though, the ting of the elevator arriving at his floor cut through their moment – because it was definitely a moment, he was sure on that – and openly kissing a man outside his room probably wouldn’t bode well for him.

 

Mikhail could read him too well though, like he knew Akihito’s movements before he himself did, and as he dragged his hand back down the muscles of Mikhail’s chest, his hand was caught – and one arm around his waist was still enough to keep him locked there.

 

“I want people to see.” Came the declared whisper as Mikhail bowed forward to press their foreheads together. And this was way too close, way too intimate to be with someone he realized he still knew nothing about, the people in the hall walked passed chatting, he could hear their feet on the carpeted hall way, the beep of one of their phones and their conversation that died out the closer they got to his doorway.

 

They were probably staring, probably with scandal or distaste, probably both – but he couldn’t bring himself to care about it, and he normally would _really_ fucking care about it. Those charismatic grey pools of control were sapping all his attention this close, he was drawn into the whirlpool hand first, because the hand Mikhail still had a hold of was placed on the man’s cheek, tender with Mikhail’s hand atop his own.

The way the scars on his fingers alternated with the clean skin of Mikhail’s own was balancing, like his hand wasn’t just a mass of bad things anymore, there were equal good things that went with it, too.

 

This time it was his own sigh that echoed between them as he shut his eyes to try and hide from it all. Fuck. It felt way to good to just be like this - he hadn’t even noticed the hallway was empty again now.

 

“Hello there, stranger.” Underneath his hand he felt Mikhail smile as his cheek moved under fingers, he felt the vibrations of his speech and the tremor of his chuckle that shook them both.

 

“Hi…” Akihito greeted finally as he opened his eyes once more, “Long time no see.”

 

“Mm, way too long. I thought I was gonna go fucking crazy, you know.” Another quick kiss and Mikhail let him go finally, the skin on his head and around his waist was cold at the loss of contact, but his hand was still held and it was enough to make up for it. “Are you ready to go?”

 

“Oh yeah, just let me get my room key and shit, wait here!”

 

 

*

 

Oh, Mikhail was in deep shit – his mom was going to have a damn field day. He in no way, ever, expected things to go like that right off the bat, to feel like that from the moment Akihito was in his sights – from the way he molded against his body, and the way his head fit perfectly under his chin when they drew close.

 

The way in which Akihito calmed under his touch made him feel much too powerful, he could see the shift in him, his panic stricken pupils wide as the elevator opened, then narrowed in calm with a few honest words from him. That was probably what it was really, the fact that _his,_ Mikhail Arbatov the leader of the Russian Bratva’s honest words had placated him. He was used to telling lies to reassure people, to roll the venom off his tongue and transform it into honey at the last second and melt them with his stare, which few could handle.

 

Really, he didn’t need to sugar coat anything with Akihito, could stare at him openly the way he wanted and it that was all that Akihito needed.

 

It was an addicting feeling, in all of his fake honesty, because he was still a lying piece of shit. There was one thing that still needed to come out into the open before he could really validate the thrumming in his blood.

 

Tonight, after he’d wooed him, charmed him and wrapped him around his finger, the finger that had the words ‘We Always Collect’ inscribed on the gold ring he wore, that’s when he’d tell him. It was sick, to associate those things together, but that was exactly what he was going to do.

 

He _knew_ it would be fine, but there was a small amount of uncharacteristic uncertainty that niggled at him, and he wish he could just solidify the feeling so he could fucking shoot it.

 

Akihito was a tough nut, he’d been through some shit and looked back on it without emotion, like the way Mikhail pulled the trigger to end someone’s life, it was just something that happened – Akihito looked at his life the same way, which explained why they both liked to live in the moment a little more than others, because it was only the now that mattered. Even if his take on life might have pissed the old coot Yuri off every now and then.

 

So while he listened to Akihito’s rather ungraceful thumping footsteps in the room he’d arranged to have him upgraded to while he waited, he threw that stupid uncertainty into the depths of his mind and smiled, because what he had planned was so fucking genius that he knew tonight was going to go down well.

 

“Okay! Come at me, surprise date!” Akihito appeared and thumped his chest with his fist in a staunch ‘I got this’ action, and Mikhail laughed as he led the smaller blonde back towards the elevator with Akihito’s hand in his.

 

He really had no hope of brushing these feelings aside. Shit.

 

 

 

*

 

 

“Where are we going?” the Hummer sped down the free way, passing makes and models of cars Akihito had never seen before, the roads were clear and traffic was minimal this far out, they’d been driving for 45 minutes and it was into the evening now, he was starting to get suspicious.

 

Maybe he’d been too trusting, maybe Mikhail was this serial killer who was luring him out to the country side to kill - he’d be chopped up in to pieces, or put in a vat of chemicals and never seen again. He _really_ wanted to know where they were going.

 

The city was starting to thin out, and there were open patches of grass and small factories dotted along the dwindling city outskirts - the perfect place to slaughter someone, if you asked him.

 

Mikhail just laughed and kept his eyes on the road, and he really was too trusting because psychopaths laughed too didn’t they and he could be in the car with one.

 

“Seriously.” He put in again, and maybe he fidgeted in his seat a little, he could put up a fight, but Mikhail would win with his size by default.

 

His unease seemed to attract Mikhail’s attention then, and Akihito watched as his hand with the gold ring on the index finger changed gears on the leather stick, he wondered what the words said as the gears changed down one after another until the vehicle eventually came to a stop on the side of the free way.

 

“You don’t trust me?” and Akihito wished he were still driving, so that Mikhail would still be looking at the road rather then giving Akihito all of his attention. Cars rushed passed in whooshes of air, followed by a truck that made Hummer shake as the draft of air in its wake hit.

 

All of a sudden he felt stupid, and he brushed off his stupid concern with an impish shrug, “Well, you could be leading me out here to kill me or something, how am I meant to know!”

 

It wasn’t air from cars speeding passed rocking the Hummer this time, but Mikhail’s booming laughter as he braced himself on the steering wheel and shook with amusement.

 

“What! You’re not telling me fuck all.” Akihito spat indignantly as he crossed his arms, it did sound stupid when he said it out loud, but didn’t mean Mikhail could laugh that hard.

 

“Haha, oh shit. You’re funny, and extremely fucking morbid aren’t you?” Mikhail turned once more and leant over the center console.

 

Calloused fingers ghosted over his cheek as the Russian leant in close with the smile still in his eye, “I like that. But no, I could eat you, but never kill you.”

 

“Something tells me that’s still just as bad.” He stammered, because he still felt like he was captive in the mouth of a lion even if he wasn’t going to be killed.

 

“Oh, it probably is, but I’ll make sure you like it, hehe.” The wink he got then was playful and genuine, but the notion behind it still made him shiver.

 

“It’s seriously just off the next exit, okay?” Mikhail’s thumb ran over his cheek lightly before they parted once more, “Kill you, pfft. You’re a dumb ass.” Mikhail snickered as the car lurched into motion again.

 

“Shut up and drive, you’re a psycho until proven otherwise!”

 

 

 

*

 

“Oi.” Akihito deadpanned as the Hummer slowed, the ticking of the indicator only gave him a small warning until the vehicle turned into the destination he hoped they weren’t going to. No fucking way. “I think I’d accept the psycho killer thing rather than this.” Because even if he couldn’t read Russian he could still make out the giant signage on the buildings and hangars that they were parking next to.

 

“Ooooh, are you scared?” like a mocking school boy Mikhail poked his tongue out and then promptly jumped out of the car and shut the door behind him without so much as a backward glance – he didn’t even try to reassure him! What a shitty date.

 

Of course Akihito had no choice but to follow, his footsteps crunched on the gravel, slower than the speed of his racing heart that was for sure.

 

“I’m not scared!” Akihito rebuffed as he increased his speed to a trot to catch up to the Russian, who was walking backwards and looking at him with a taunt in his eye. “But I don’t see the point how jumping out of a perfectly good plane constitutes as a date!”

 

“Fwahaha! Don’t worry, I’ll hold your hand, sweetheart. Come on, I’ll show you something amazing, trust me.”

 

And he just had to get drawn in to Mikhail’s infectious attitude, because from the way both his wrists were grabbed and pulled forward as a result, it was clear Mikhail was excited – he had this childish grin on his face as he dragged Akihito with him, his eyes gleaned in the evening light and his whole body seemed to emanate enthusiasm, and once again he found himself getting swept away with no choice but to follow Mikhail into the massive sky diving building that loomed overhead.

 

*

 

Nerves bristled as he tried and failed to zip up the jumpsuit that he’d changed into, Mikhail was already strutting around in the black jumpsuit issued by the sky dive company, and Akihito cursed because he looked seriously, seriously amazing in the aerial gear. It made his blonde hair pop, and his teeth shine, it followed the curvature of his body perfectly and Mikhail so just so fucking hot it wasn’t funny.

 

“Fuck.” He cursed aloud this time, dropping his hands to his sides as he tried to calm down. He might be called a daredevil back home, but… skydiving was not the reason why.

 

With his eyes shut as he took a breath, he felt the unmistakable presence of Mikhail approach, felt the tug on the fabric all the way up his body as his hands not his own zipped Akihito’s jumpsuit up for him, and then Mikhail stepped even closer.

 

“Come on, you can get into a brawl but not do something as easy as just jump and fall?” Mikhail teased hot in his ear as one hand whispered down the front of his suit along the zip line. The sound of his nail rasping against the metallic teeth made his hair stand on end.

 

“S-shut up.” Akihito hissed under his breath, “I’ve never done anything like this before so of course I am gonna be nervous, you calm bastard.”

 

He was going to go in-fucking-sane, Mikhail just chuckled into his ear, and his hair was still on end, but for a very different reason now, the sound traveled right through him, it made his cheeks hot and he _really_ thought he was passed this blushing stage!

 

“It’s okay, Akihito, we’ll be tandem diving together, I’ll be with you for every single second of it and I promise, you will love it.”

 

Just like that his worry about jumping was gone, his heart was still thumping but it was because of what Mikhail said, how he said it, how this man was so sure of everything and anything, and how easy Akihito got pulled in every single time.

 

He was so fucking doomed.

 

*


	13. Chapter 13

This sort of manipulative power was definitely going to Mikhail’s head, the heady feeling of small pushes and pulls to control someone’s emotions was much too addicting. Mikhail always knew he was a wicked person, he thrived on control – tearing it away from people and leaving them no choice but to fall in line or die, to squish them under his thumb and attach strings to their lives, a puppet master in truth– and now he was using it all on Akihito.

 

Hell was the only place for him, surely, but he couldn’t care less because he’d known he was damned before he even met Akihito.

 

Even though skydiving really was fucking awesome, and he knew Akihito would dig the view from the top – it all served another purpose that was purely for his benefit. He knew Akihito had an aversion to heights, it wasn’t a full-blown fear that would make him panic, but it was enough that he could harness the unease and use it.

 

He’d take Akihito on an emotional sky dive, take him all the way up with their initial meeting at the hotel – which he’d done already – and then push him off the edge with a real life jump. He’d simmer in his own nervousness while Mikhail did nothing – and when it looked like he was about to hit the bottom that’s when he’d step in to comfort him.

 

Oh it was so fucking devious, Akihito would be forced to let go of some of his control then, to give it to Mikhail and rely on him, to trust him and fall deeper down the rabbit hole that was Mikhail’s domain – all at the same time as he fell through the sky and was too high on adrenaline to realize what was happening.

 

He’d promised himself he wasn’t going to do things this way, but it was too easy, it was a sure-fire way of reeling Akihito into the place of no return, which is exactly where he wanted him. Mikhail could only ignore his domineering side for so long – he was a bad person down to his soul – so why should he stop now? It was time to show Akihito the real thing, but that was only after they’d landed and in turn convinced Akihito that he was safe with him.

 

Now that wasn’t to say it wasn’t all just for a good time, but if he could kill two birds with one stone then he wouldn’t miss the chance. Mikhail himself would still have a fucking blast, because what could be better than being so close to Akihito, thousands of feet up in the air with the view of his city below. So yeah, he’d still been looking forward to the genuine date part of it, a lot actually.

 

Akihito’s reactions to him still pleased him to no end, and as usual the conversation was a breath of fresh air, the touches and glances shared left him wanting. It all felt so goddam natural, this instinct to be close, to feel his heat and to let loose and laugh – to be an actual human capable of feeling.

 

It was the only validating thing really, because even though reassuring Akihito fit into his scheme, it was something he would do regardless, because it too was instinctual – the urge to encourage him and take away his troubles.

 

So when the time came for him to step in close to a strung out Akihito, to tease him and wind him up further, and then undo it all with a touch and more honest words to make Akihito relax against his body as a result; almost made him dizzy with power and fulfillment all at once.

 

Mikhail wasn’t the only one doing the hypnotizing – he was well aware of that, but he supposed it was only right that the power exchange was equal, even if his cute Japanese artist was oblivious to it.

 

*

 

 

His shoes squeaked every now and then on the smooth concrete as they made their way through the giant hangar doors to the small but perfectly damn _fine_ plane they would be jumping from, and Akihito’s heart was already in his fucking throat again. It was part fear, part excitement now, which was better then being just plain scared probably.

 

The sky was red as the sun set, and the air was still, perfect conditions for jumping according to the pilot, who seemed to know Mikhail on a first name basis – which piqued his curiosity a ton.

Tonight he’d make an effort to pry information from Mikhail. He wasn’t sure how long he could go on knowing next to nothing, because no matter how you looked at it, it wasn’t normal to not even know the guys last name at this point. Before he got too drawn in, and he knew full well he was being drawn in – it wasn’t like he could help it though, Mikhail had him right from the very start outside that café – he had to know what he was getting himself into.

 

It was still in the back of his head that maybe Mikhail could be a renowned Russian playboy, and Akihito was just his flavor of the month. Not that he wouldn’t mind if it were that, because you didn’t get the chance to be in the company of people like Mikhail often at all, but it was the not knowing that would be the let down – because he was starting to convince himself it was more than that now. And when you started to think that way – it gave way to your vulnerabilities. He’d always prided himself on self-preservation, and this entire thing was the very opposite. Yeah, he was scared of jumping, and he was fucking scared of finding out the truth, but he would find out nonetheless.

 

It was funny because he’d been frustrated at waiting all damn day for this moment, but now that it was here he felt like he needed more time yet again, exactly like their first date. Oho, he was so fucking nervous, holy shit.

 

The last time he was this nervous was when he was waiting for his final marks on his last ever university project which would determine if he graduated with honors or not – the marks that determined whether he got to go on this fucking trip or not.

 

“Babe - fuck, I mean Akihito, would you put this in your zip pocket for me?” the query from next to him – and the intrusion of Mikhail’s open palm bursting into his vision as he looked down startled him, and his shoes screeched to a stop on the concrete.

 

“Babe?” he cocked his head as he looked at the gold ring that he’d seen on Mikhail’s finger sitting inconspicuously in his hand. Around him the propellers on the small plane started to spin, and men around them flurried as the door to the aircraft slid open. 

 

“Sorry, it slipped out, but mm, I think I like calling you that.” The man hummed to himself as he thought about it, then decided with a smug nod, confirming his own musings, but then his eyes shot back to a blushing Akihito, fixing him in place “Look after this for me please?”

 

And he knew Misha was doing it again, whatever it was to distract him from getting nervous, bringing his attention away from the crazy thing he was about to do and focusing it all on the Russian instead. Once again he fell for it, it was impossible to ignore Mikhail. “Why? You’ve got pockets.” He looked down at the ring, it shone with luster, it had tiny scratches from wear that had oxidized and turned black, the inscription around the outside was the same, aged and darkened with experience and constant wear. It was an importing ring. Akihito felt it in the pit of his stomach, something told him that even though it was small; it was much heavier than anything he’d ever carried before.

 

“Look at me, Akihito.” The words weren’t their usual softness, closer to a command coupled with the severe gaze Mikhail was directing at him. “I want you to look after this for me, and when you give it back to me tonight, ask me what it says… and I’ll tell you.”

 

Before he could answer, the low drone of the propellers blocked him out as they sped up, faster and faster until it was time to get this over and done with and just get on the fucking plane. Mikhail did it all for him, unzipped the small pocket on his chest and dropped the ring in, zipped it back up with a pat on the fabric to confirm it was there, and then dragged him onto the aircraft with the laughing smile back on his face.

 

*

 

“Are you ready?!” Mikhail had to shout into his ear even though they were strapped incredibly close together, he had his goggles on, and he was staring down at the earth thirteen hundred fucking feet below as the door was pulled open by an assistant.

 

“No!” he was definitely not fucking ready! His pulse blocked out the engine noise, his vision reduced to looking down at how fucking far he had to fall. No way.

 

His hands were sweating profusely and he didn’t even know what to do with them, flap like an absolute moron so maybe he would have some chance at not going splat. Yeah, flap flap motherfucker.

 

“It’s okay, Akihito,” came the next declaration. Mikhail reached around and grabbed his hands, completely enveloping Akihito with his body, and even now he still noticed how well they fit together.

 

Firm, calm fingers entwined with his and squeezed in unspoken reassurance, “On three.”

 

And he squeezed back as he screwed his eyes shut and listened to the countdown.

 

“One.” He took an unsteady breath, and held it onto it like it was his last.

 

“Two.” Tried not to resist the urge to throw up as he focused on the pressure building in his veins.

 

“Three.” Then he was falling face first as Mikhail pushed them off from the platform.

 

He screamed his voice raw as his eyes snapped open on instinct, first in terror as the earth started to get rapidly bigger beneath him, the air rushed passed his face and sucked his breath away, and behind him he could only just hear Mikhail’s excited whoops as they fell in the typical star shape with their limbs spread.

 

The feeling of weightlessness took over after the initial horror, of actually flying, of being so far removed from the earth that looking at it all from here made it seem so insignificant; and that none of the small shit actually mattered when you saw the bigger picture. That’s when he felt the adrenaline course through his veins, then he was screaming in euphoria instead as freedom and exhilaration filled every fiber of his existence.

 

And just as he started to struggle for breath and panic anew, the parachute snapped open when Mikhail pulled the cord. His world shifted from roaring winds passed his face, and the thrill of free fall, to something entirely different.

 

“Look, Akihito.” The whisper was perfectly audible now, there was no other sound apart from them, no more wind, just a stillness that he would have never thought possible as they drifted down and down with the billowing shoot above them.

 

Like this he could finally encompass the entire picture in his head instead of the tunnel vision when it came to falling, and what he saw now…. he would remember for the rest of his life.

 

One side of the horizon before him was lit in a burning red glow as if the earth itself was on fire, the wispy clouds that were strewn across the sky shone in the most brilliant hue of red he’d ever seen. If he reached out, it felt like he’d be burnt, his hand engulfed by the flames.

 

It wasn’t just that though, because as you trailed your eyes across the horizon those reds turned to purples and blues, violets and indigoes, darker and darker as night crept in and drowned the sun in its darkness – the edge of the world.

 

The glow of the sun, the moon and stars all beckoned in one complete picture, a masterpiece of the biggest proportions, something art could never, ever imitate. The only way you could see this, to feel like he was feeling at this exact moment was to be here, where he was wit this person behind him.

 

How many times today was he going to be unable to breathe?

 

And then, as if this moment couldn’t possibly get any better; the lights of the St Petersburg highways and streets started to flicker on district by district – a twinkle in the corner of his vision, a glimmer right in front, until he couldn’t keep track of it all and he could only watch as the city came to life – a sparkling canvas beneath him.

“It’s beautiful, right?” even though Mikhail’s hands were meant to be controlling the toggles on the parachute, they wound around his waist and made Akihito much too aware of his presence once more.

 

“Yeah…” there were no other words he could say that would justify how true it really was.

 

“I saw your sketch of the city that you must have seen from the plane, and I remember one time I flew back in at this time of day, and this sight has never left me, I wanted you to see it too, my city like this.”

 

“I… woah. Thank you.” He said it so quietly he thought Mikhail wouldn’t hear him, but he was so wrong on that front. Bare hands trailed up his body as they continued floating, until one hand took control of his neck to feel his still racing pulse, and the other urged his face to turn to look Mikhail in the eye – he’d taken his goggles off, and now he was taking Akihito’s off too. He shoved them down the front of Akihito’s suit to get rid of them, and then the hand was back on his cheek.

 

“Your heart is going crazy.”

 

Because I _am_ going crazy, Akihito wanted to say. “Because I just jumped out of a fucking plane.” _Not because we’re close enough to kiss._ Sarcasm was really good at a time like this, anything to hide his awkwardness.

 

“It’s okay, mine is too.” And oh, that was it. He was caught up in this person hook, line and sinker, it must have been the cliché-ness of it all as their faces drew close that sealed his fate and told him it was okay to be feeling like this, okay to bare it all thousands of feet up in the air with the world at their feet and not another soul in sight to see this moment.

 

He was falling literally and figuratively, and it was so cheesy and fucking typical of a romantic sappy date but he couldn’t give a fuck about that because it was also so damn good.  

 

It was so much more gentle than he’d ever been kissed before that it was like it could end at any moment, like Mikhail could pull away and it would be over. And because he’d been sucked so far in he didn’t want it to end at all, he wanted more, so much so that he was willing to let it show, to show vulnerability and kiss back harder.

 

The primal grunt that vibrated through Mikhail’s chest only encouraged him, until he was kissing Mikhail for all he was worth, the hand on his neck raked down under the hem of the jumpsuit and traced the line of his collar bone, back and forth until it went back up to his pulse to feel its rhythm – which was raging out of control even more so now.

 

The only reason they stopped was to catch their breath, and only then did his world fall back on its axis as he went back to the view and realized how much further they’d drifted down.

 

“Oh! That reminds me.” Mikhail exclaimed behind him, he felt him fidget and heard a zipper and then Mikhail’s arm shot out in front of them both with his cellphone in it.

 

“Oi, don’t! You’ll drop it, you nut case!”

 

“Oho, nut case, you think so highly of me! Nah, I won't drop it so smile and take a selfie with me, okay Pumpkin?” there he was teasing again.

 

“Who’re you calling Pumpkin?!” he turned to glare and found Mikhail looking right at him, through him with his mercurial eyes that were definitely regarding him with a fondness that no one could fake.

 

He heard the shutter noise go off, once, twice and on the third noise he looked back just in time to see the photo, see the moment between them captured perfectly on a shitty phone camera.

 

“Ah, time to start taking control of this thing I guess.” The phone went back, and Mikhail’s hands went up to the toggles at last to control the parachute towards the landing field.

 

The ground was coming up fast now, and the rush made itself known all over again when he realized he’d really just fucking done it, and that it had been fucking amazing like Mikhail said.

 

With scary expert precision and control they swooped down over the field of soft grass as they came in and his feet were reunited with solid ground once more, but because they were still strapped together it was all a mass off legs as they both tried to find their footing and slow the momentum.

 

“Wah, shit!” and he was two seconds away from really going splat on his face until Mikhail put all his weight backwards and they fell that way instead with a rush of air and fits of laughter.

 

Above them the chute was still falling on its final descent, but he ignored it in favor of hastily and messily trying to free himself, his hands were shaking like crazy, but he eventually got it done so he could turn around and face Mikhail as they both tried to catch their breath yet again.

 

“Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit!” he knew the wonderment was on his face, the glee and the thrill, could see it reflected in those eyes that looked at him with exactly the same emotions.

 

“I know, you did it!” the Russian was nothing short of beaming at him, and there was no way, ever, that he could be the bad person that Misha said he was. Not when he looked at him like that.

 

He didn’t know what to do with himself, he needed to channel this feeling and because he was still high on endorphins; he threw himself at Mikhail and tried to convey it all with his tongue in the other man’s mouth.

 

This time it was the sort of forceful, threatening kiss that could set his world alight, just like it looked like on the horizon, the gentleness was no where to be seen now, which was A-fucking-okay with him.

 

Ravenous hands roamed down his back, stopping at his ass to knead and grind them together in a way that made him wish the stupid jumpsuits were gone.

 

The world was reduced to just the two of them, everything else was literally blocked out as the nylon parachute fell on top of them with a synthetic hiss and trapped them both under it’s colorful fabric domain.

 

Neither of them could see a fucking thing, the moment dissolved naturally, and in more bouts of laughter, breathless kisses and fighting with the giant clingy damn thing they finally managed to free themselves and both end up on their asses with the goofiest grins on their faces.

 

“Wanna go again?” Mikhail asked with the most wicked, daring grin, and of course he couldn’t back down from the challenge. And he needed to see if it was the fall that made his heart race, or something else.

 

“Fucking aye!”

 

*

 

Mikhail couldn’t remember the last time he had this much fun, elation and satisfaction kept the mood light between them for the entire ride back to the city. They joked about doing it again and adding tricks and rolls in the free fall, it looked like Akihito caught the adrenaline bug, and his enthusiasm was infectious.

 

He kept the laughter going, he needed to segue this good mood into what was to come.

 

Akihito still had his ring, he’d told him to keep it until they got to where they were going next, which was his club coincidentally.

 

It was on Akihito’s mind, he’d watch his hand dip into the pocket of his jeans to make sure it was still there, it was probably unconscious, but it told Mikhail just how uneasy Akihito was now.

 

Meanwhile, he still had no idea how he was going to break it to him.

 

_“My name is actually Mikhail Arbatov, and your comment about being a psycho killer wasn’t that far off. Funny right?!”_

Yeah, that probably wouldn’t go down well. It would be better to give him small clues by taking him to the club, gaining instant entrance and royal treatment by being taken to his private rooms out the back, for Akihito to watch how the men reacted to him, and for Akihito to see how he treated his subordinates in turn.

 

Those things would plant the small ideas in his head so he could come to terms with them by himself, and then Mikhail would just have to confirm it – that was the best plan.

 

 

*

 

The drive back into the city went in a blur, the night lights that he’d seen come on from the sky only moments ago rushed passed in streaks of happy light.

 

He’d been so excited after jumping twice, that it was all he talked about in the Hummer, laughing and holding Mikhail’s hand in between when the Russian’s changed gears.

 

When he shifted in his seat every now and then, he felt the ring in the pocket of his jeans dig in, a constant reminder that he had to ask the real questions this time around.

 

It wasn’t a matter of wanting to find out now, it was a matter of needing to. You didn’t feel this way about someone and know nothing.

 

You didn’t notice the creases in the corners of their eyes when they smiled and not know their last name, you didn’t notice how their blonde hair curled in at the nape of their neck in little ringlets and not know what they did for a living, and you didn’t realize how insanely long their golden eyelashes were as they blinked and not _know anything about them._

He was being unreasonably uneasy about it, probably because so much hinged on it. Not that he knew what he was going to do once he found out anyway. His headstrong self told him none of this mattered, and that he shouldn’t change his plans of going around the world for anyone – but the part moved by Mikhail told him never to leave, and the part moved by Mikhail was fast becoming much stronger than his headstrong self.

 

Confliction didn’t even begin to cover it.

 

It was going to be fine, he told himself as they pulled into a park right in front of the busy club Mikhail said they were going to. He didn’t even notice how every single street in the park was taken apart from this one.

 

He did notice though as they got out; the huge line for the club that went down the street, it was going to take ages to get in!

 

“This way, babe.” Mikhail threw him a wink and took his hand without a care like usual, without a care that this was probably the busiest street in the most popular suburb of St Petersburg, and that everyone was looking at them.

 

The feeling of being scrutinized, weighed and measured was all to familiar, back in Japan it was because of his tattoos, the stereotype of tattoos and gangs was still strong, but it was something he’d weighed and measured himself before he went ahead and got them – and not for one moment had he ever regretted his choice.

 

He would carry the markings on his body with pride forever and always, and while he might be shy with Mikhail, he wasn’t shy with anyone else. Instinctively, he straightened his back, fixed his posture and set his shoulders back to hold himself with confidence. If he was going to be next to someone like Mikhail, then he had to be _next_ to him, not behind him.

 

“What the fuck are they all looking at?” Akihito asked a little too loudly, because he was tired of being looked at like this, and he thought overseas was the last place it would happen.

 

Mikhail though, just snickered in wicked amusement, and the creases at the corners of his eyes appeared just like he liked them as the Russian’s hand squeezed his. “Because the owner of the club has just stepped out of the car with his crazy new boyfriend, and you look like you’re gonna punch someone’s lights out if they don’t stop staring.”

 

“I don’t look lik– wait, what?! Boyfriend? You own this club?” Akihito sputtered, because boyfriend, owner, what?

 

Sure enough, to answer his question Mikhail just said “Yup and yup!” Before walking right to the front of the line and waltzing in like he owned the place, because he did own the place Akihito realized when security just stepped aside to let them in.

 

“So that’s what you do for a living then?” he trailed as Mikhail led him in, and Akihito could practically smell the deference as they walked passed. Mikhail didn’t acknowledge anyone, not with the smile he usually gave Akihito, or the cherry hello he got on the phone. Grey eyes just surveyed the men practically bowing to him in a cold, blank stare that Akihito had seen once before.

 

He knew Mikhail was capable of it, he’d seen it on the roof top when the other man came out, but he was just surprised to see it here.

 

And before he could even dwell on what it meant, think about how the grey in his eyes changed from something warm and so _Mikhail,_ to something harsh and threatening in a place like this; the arm Mikhail was holding was yanked, and suddenly he was in a crushing hug with a pair of arms wrapped tight around him.

 

Warm breath ghosted over the top of his head as Mikhail buried his face into the top of Akihito’s hair, and the unsteady breath the Russian took before he spoke brought his own nerves back full fucking force.

 

“I’ll answer your questions in a moment, Akihito. Let’s just go to my suite out back, kay?”

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am actually sorry for that cliffy this time, I thought I would get more written before I had to go on holiday but alas, I didn't - and I'd rather cut it off at a good place and this was it XD *looks at what else I have written and laughs for six centuries* hahaha. 
> 
> Sorry though XD


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: Sooo, I went on holiday for like a month (to Japan and woo do I have some stories to tell and new ideas oh no), and forgot where I was at with all my shit pretty much, my bad. 
> 
> This is a story I never wanted to fall behind on, either. It’s my child.  
> Gonna start moving it along a bit from here. Thanks for your patience, all, welcome to the new subscribers that followed while I was away, it means a lot to me that people follow this story. 
> 
> *closes eyes and hits posts even though I don't know what I'm doing hahahaha* 
> 
> This chapter is for Solluna, she'll know why when she reads it.

_Now_ Akihito was nervous.

 

They were sitting on a couch in this lavish room with a private bar, the ceiling lights were out, and the only thing that lit the room was the golden dome lights that dotted along the walls, the one at the furthest end of the long room ticked unceremoniously, and it only served to wind him up further.

 

He’d just given Mikhail the ring back, and it sat in the Russian’s out stretched palm, glinting richly in the dim luminance.

 

“Guess what it says.” And it was almost a whisper, but still so loud in the otherwise quiet room. It was way too tense, Misha sat there a king in his throne room, he’d put that cold look back on his face as if to forewarn Akihito a blizzard was coming any moment now, and he just might start fucking shaking from that Siberian cold.

 

Sarcasm was always something good to resort to when he couldn’t take it though; he needed anything to break up the lump in his throat. He’d feel much more comfortable swinging fists in a fight, or taunting a bunch of yakuza to come and chase him, anything compared to this. Akihito could take confrontation of most kinds, but this kind where something was actually expected of him, some sort of fucking reciprocal effort in maintaining the situation was not the sort he dealt in. Like a damn kid sat down in the principal’s office trying to talk reason with you.

 

He expelled a nervous, shaky breath. “Umm, one ring to rule them all, one ring to find them, one ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them?” and quoting Lord of The Rings was really just icing on the cake, his edgy half assed laugh at the end was just plain pathetic, however.

 

But it fucking worked, Mikhail’s face cracked his brilliant, blinding smile and he barked his own laugh and flopped back against the couch with his hand on his stomach. “You…. Dumbass. Oho, it’s fucking scary, because it’s actually not that far off what it means. I’ll give you all the points for creativity though.”

 

“Wait, what?” he shot back at the same speed his brain rang alarm bells, how the fuck could a ring mean that? He looked back down at it, that was definitely Russian on the outside, not Elvish, he wasn’t in Mordor or the Shire, he was in fucking St Petersburg.

 

“Hmm. Want one more guess?” Mikhail teased, and he was just so glad the situation wasn’t so damn awkward now.

 

But Akihito was too anxious to ask anymore at this point, it’d be much better if Mikhail would just rip the band aid clean off and get it over and done with. “Aha, naaah, I think you should just tell me.” The Russian was relaxed in his domain, but he sure as hell wasn’t, Akihito was still perched on the edge of the couch, his knees bouncing and his hands clenching because there was nothing much to hold onto. He wished he brought pencil or something, anything to fiddle with, even in this light he couldn’t trace the lines of the flowers on his hands, couldn’t find comfort in the warming crimson of his country or the strength of his dragon or serenity of his koi fish. The tattoos that brought him so much trouble, but so much comfort at the same time weren’t visible, and he felt alone in the shadow cast room without them.

 

The Russian went back to being that cold person once more, serious and unsmiling, so much so it made his stomach drop. He was definitely a secret murderer or something like he’d irrationally thought in the Hummer on the way to their sky dive. Definitely.

 

“It says; ‘We Always Collect.’….” the words hung in the air as Mikhail trailed off, looking at him expectantly for a reaction. He wished they were holding hands now of all times, because he could really go for one of those reassuring hand squishes whether he was embarrassed about sweaty palms or not.  

 

Akihito _felt_ like he knew what they meant. The underlying threat in that motto was there, it rolled off Mikhail’s tongue with pride and surety, something tattooed on his fucking soul and it _showed_.

 

He’d heard similar things back home from crime groups, because they were pretty hardcore when it came to their real estate dealings and collecting payment on time. Akihito was an artist for fuck’s sake; of course he could connect the damn dots!

 

“So… you’re like, this henchman for the local crime group or something?” he ignored what he was actually asking and just spoke the words one after another like some sort of school recital.

 

The Russian shifted in his seat, resting the ankle of one leg on the knee of the other in casual poise. “Henchman? Ha, no Akihito, I’m something much worse than that. It goes back to that little quote you just gave me… Akihito, _look_ at me.” there came a light touch on his shoulder to pull his attention around, Mikhail was staring right at him, the light caught his eyes from the wall beside them, but the warmth there was much brighter and more real than what just a reflection could manage. “Cos what I am gonna tell you now will be everything you need to know and then some.”

Mikhail’s gaze ceased him, froze him in place and wouldn’t let him look anywhere but at him. 

 

“Akihito, I am the _only_ one with this ring.” Mikhail started as he tipped his hand up, and slid the ring back down on his finger in slow, deliberate movements, and Akihito had to admit, Mikhail’s hand looked odd without that thick gold band on his index finger.

 

“This ring, it means I’m the leader of the Bratva here in Russia, and all the branches in Europe.”

 

The sentence resounded throughout the room, bouncing in his ear drums and skewing his thoughts as the meaning of that ring hit home, as Akihito buried his hands in his wind swept hair and grimaced at the floor because irony must have been his best fucking friend, and it loved to follow him everywhere.

 

Mikhail liked to joke, liked to wind him up with silly things and then make fun of him for it, but now was not one of those times. It all rang true, the mens’ reactions to him, Mikhail’s reaction to them, how Mikhail could change at the flick of a switch, the darkness that Akihito knew lurked deep within those grey eyes.

 

Was there really no fucking escape for him? All he could do was laugh sardonically at the floor, because what a fucking joke. Was this not what his studies were for, his art, all his hard work, the running and staying _out of trouble_ , it was to _escape_ the crooked life he was brought up with and here was with the leader of an internationally renown organized crime syndicate.

 

The taste it left in his mouth definitely wasn’t a good one, sour with mockery and dry with spite, he swallowed it back and let out a fed up with this shit breath. “Haha, holy shit.” Was all he could muster, it sounded tired even to his own ears. “Didn’t see that one coming.” And he was still shaking, bouncing his knees up and down in order to cope, because fucking Russian _mafia._ Akihito knew a thing or two, you heard rumors even in Japan; ruthless with influence in every corner of the continent, cruel and not to be trifled with, and he’d gone and trifled with the biggest one of all. 

 

He’d smiled at his text messages, jacked off over him in the shower, kissed him and been on genuine fucking dates with this person, done the most normal things a couple could do, and yet… And yet there was no fucking doubt in the back of his head the entire time about something sinister underneath, but who thought it would fucking be this?!

 

Oh, this made his history as a simple brawler seem peachy clean. Mikhail had _told_ him to his face that he was a bad person, not to be trusted, and Akihito didn’t doubt that for one fucking second anymore. The stupid light at the end of the room ticked on and off with the spiraling cadence of his thoughts, while beside him; the Russian remained unemotionally cool.

 

Those hooded grey eyes the color of Russia observed his every nuance, they took in his bouncing knees and the clenched hands in his hair like he was evaluating him; until Mikhail leaned forward with a pensive sigh of his own to close some of the increasing distance between them “Do you trust me, Akihito?”

 

There was a tone in that voice that Akihito never thought he’d hear, not from someone so bold and confident, someone who had the world in the palm of their hand. Unease. It turned his head faster than that fucking ticking light, and as his world stopped spinning and came into focus it was easy to see the real trepidation glinting in Mikhail’s gaze and oh… Was Misha actually _worried_ about what he’d say?

 

Dammit. This was stupid; this entire thing going on in his head, Akihito decided. He was a fucking man! Life had thrown him more shit than this, time and again. He could take one on the chin for now, could white out this turbulent mess in his head until its thick, staining ink resurfaced.

 

He fucking hated running, but _sometimes_ , running and ignoring things was so much less effort than turning around and facing the answering the question. Procrastination at its finest. He’d figure it all out later.

 

“Fuck it.” He muttered to himself moments before he shut his eyes to block out the light, block out thought; and threw himself into Mikhail’s lap instead. Where their lips connected was hot, the heat grew until that icy apprehension melted, and set him on fire in its place.

 

That split second of his control was incinerated in an instant like he hadn’t just poured petrol on the flame, the older blonde’s entire body stiffened in limbo of self restraint until it all ignited and Akihito was pushed back onto the couch. Which was fine, because if he had no control he didn’t need to think about it.

 

All he needed to focus on was the rough hands snaking up under his clothes and lightly scratching at his skin with their callouses, the mouth on his collarbone and the firm body between his legs weighing down on him. Hot breath tickled up his neck in kisses and nibbles, until it stopped at his ear to send shivers down his spine with its tingling heat.

 

“Does that mean you want to come back to my apartment, then? Because if we start here, I’m not stopping. ” It was low and husky, and not even really worded as a question. It was more like a damn revelation. It was enough to have him shivering for a second time, because this is the sort of person Mikhail really was; yet he knew enough to ask what Akihito preferred.

 

“Yeah, let’s go.”

 

*

 

 

 

In the dark St Petersburg night, the city lights streaked passed as Mikhail drove the Hummer the short way back to his canal side penthouse. It seemed the city could sense his mood, his urgency and raw impatience, which was fucking lucky for them because there was minimal traffic for such a big city, and the lights were always green.

 

Good. This was exactly how it should be right now.

 

Jesus, he’d finally figured out why he’d been so damn nervous. Granted the Japanese’s reaction had been… a tad odd, but Akihito was odd anyway. That wasn’t the cause for the foreign emotion of confliction that had possessed him on that couch in his club.

 

Oh no. If Akihito had walked away; Mikhail didn’t know what he’d have done then. And a man used to getting whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted; didn’t let things he wanted slip away whether the thing in question wanted it or not. That was the root of it all.

 

Mikhail didn’t even want to _think_ about what he might have done, because even though he might have let it go, the other possibilities weren’t the prettiest, and he could never show Akihito a picture so ugly.

 

So he’d cut through it in that room to ask himself more than anything about trust.

 

And even then Akihito’s reaction had been something unexpected, but Mikhail couldn’t blame him with such a big bomb being dropped on him. Akihito had avoided it all and launched himself into Mikhail’s lap as if seeking comfort.

 

The Russian could definitely accept that for now, it was all out in the open, and time would eventually give Akihito an answer, and before that time came he’d engrave himself so much into Akihito’s existence that there would be only one option and Mikhail wouldn’t be forced to even contemplate those other possibilities.

 

Even though relationships weren’t his forte, he knew enough that this was probably a stupid thing to do and fuck his old lady would kick his ass. But it didn’t matter, he’d never had so much fun with a person as what he’d had in the week just gone.

 

Talking about stupid things like favorite foods, or sending good morning texts with kisses on the end, dinner dates on rooftops and sky diving make out sessions. It was all sappy bullshit that came right out of a romance novel. It all probably would have been boring as hell with anyone else, but with Akihito who could swear like a sailor and actually sass back to him, treat him like a person and not like a boss who could put a bullet through your head at any second; it’d been enlivening.

 

This person was a necessity; there it was he said it. And he would make himself a necessity to this person also, and fuck was he excited for that part.

 

So just like any typical dating movie trope; the next step was to take them home to bed for that mind-blowing fuck that both sides had been waiting for. You know, the one where apparently they connected on another level or whatever. Mikhail didn’t think such a thing actually happened between two people, maybe because even in bed he was the sort of person who liked to make it clear who was in control, liked to wreck a person with overwhelming pleasure so they were forced to unravel and reveal who they really were, what they really wanted from him. Because yeah, while they might be faking at the start to please him and worm their way in, but in the end they were always screaming for real only to be shown the way out once it was all over.

 

This excitement was definitely different though, now he was excited because he finally got to see that damn body again that he’d glimpsed when Akihito opened his hotel room door in those adorable camo briefs. Now he could look at and touch those scars he’d wanted to explore ever since laying eyes on them. He could get to know Akihito’s flesh, those tattoos, the lines of his skin and his weak spots, what got him going, and what made him gasp and clutch at the sheets.

 

Knowledge was power, and the more he knew about Akihito and his body the better.

 

The thrill of having someone like Akihito; who started off shy and coy only to turn open and fiery as they grew comfortable in _his_ bed, because he’d never actually taken someone to his real apartment before, was entirely new, and he had a feeling that his body was going to be exactly the same.

 

Akihito wasn’t the sort of person to fake anything, he didn’t want anything from him apart him the company, so no, Mikhail wasn’t going to wreck him to make him unravel and lose himself for something so simple as control; he was going to wreck him because he wanted to, because it would only draw Akihito further in, which was exactly where he wanted him.

 

With Akihito he could be himself, mostly anyway, and that’s who he, Mikhail Arbatov, really was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On that note; I don't think I've ever been so excited to write smut in my life. Haha.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I just want to say an extreme heart felt thank you to those who are still reading this fic, or have given it a try, to those who comment, kudos, review, you know how it goes.
> 
> This fic is extremely special to me, more than any other, and I never thought it would ever garner this much response, I am extremely lucky to have the readers that I do, not only for this fic, but for every thing I write. Guess I should mention that I have more Mikhito fics planned after this XD because Mikhail unf and he’s fucking back bitches! My life is complete.
> 
>  
> 
> Now on to the fucking butt smut *heavy breathing* thank you to solluna for being my guinea pig reader even though she is extremely busy.

*

 

 

Getting into the secure parking complex next to his building seemed to take double the usual time now they were here, everything seemed to be slowing down, the black steel gate rolled across on its wheels at a maddening pace, and once Mikhail barged through he parked in one of the parks designated to him that was closest to his private elevator. Going through the ground floor lobby would only take up yet more time.

 

Akihito followed behind him in the dark with his hands shoved in his pockets and a furtive glance around the lot before the lift doors opened with a harsh ting that ramped up their invasive silence.

 

They both wanted this regardless of their little communication hiccup, and Mikhail couldn’t help the wicked smile that tugged at his lip as the elevator went up and up, Akihito’s own self-conscious grin and blossoming pink cheeks only made the air that much more electric.

 

“Haha, I feel like this is high school all over again.” Akihito grumbled as he scratched the nape of his neck in an effort to cover his shyness. Fuck, he was so cute. How Mikhail hadn’t managed to jump his bones before this was a testament to how afraid he was of the beating his mom would give him if he’d done anything of the sort.

 

The lift announced its arrival to his floor, the top floor, with another charging ting, erasing any thoughts of his old lady and tunneling his vision to the only thing that mattered right now.

 

The steel doors opened, and that’s when all the static finally discharged.

 

“I’ll show you something so much better than high school.” The Russian replied under his breath before he swept Akihito from the elevator.

 

By the time he reached the luxurious, polished oak doors framed by small marble columns that served as the entrance to his baroque style apartment; he already had Akihito’s legs around his waist and those slender tattooed arms grasping at his neck as he worked at the silken skin of Akihito’s throat.

 

Soft panting sounded in his ear, lightly muscled legs held on tighter to his waist and quivered with the effort, and holy shit, a few kisses to the neck and Akihito was already putty in his hands. The artist was so malleable and even though he wanted to find out what got Akihito going; he knew what got him going now, too. He was going to enjoy this.

 

It was fucking lucky the entrance key in his pocket worked from a distance, because the door unlocked on his approach and all he had to do was back into it and they were in his apartment at last.

 

There was no time to show Akihito around, fuck that, seriously. His place was expansive even though it was only him that lived here, the entire floor was his, it was luxurious and more than he needed, but he’d worked hard for it so he’d make a point of showing Akihito around in the morning.

 

Right now he was to busy rutting Akihito up against the wall as he absentmindedly kicked his shoes off, the soft thunk in the darkness between heavy breaths announced Akihito shucking off his own somehow too.

 

“Haa, sorry for the intrusion.” Came the preoccupied formality, and could this person seriously get any cuter? Mikhail fucking hoped not, because it was enough to throw him off his game and have him smiling against Akihito’s neck as his heart thumped, because this person was inside his fucking home and he liked it a lot…

 

“Mhm.” was his reply as he issued more soft kisses to that racing pulse, “You Japanese and your funny customs. Intrude all you want.” And even he could hear the fondness in his own voice. He was a goddamn goner. “Welcome home.”  He might as well finish himself off and reply in kind even though he was only talking against Akihito’s skin.

 

Akihito’s fingers with those battle scars and the skill to create that image of him on that damn napkin raked up through his hair as their half assed conversation continued, “T-thanks. Nnn, you know… Japanese customs?” was Akihito’s next breathless query.

 

Mikhail answered in between more kisses as he weaved his way to the bedroom in the familiar darkness, “Some… I have a Japanese… friend… though he’s not anywhere near as delightful as you.” Delightful and that person didn’t even belong on the same damn planet, he thought to himself as he sat on the bed and let Akihito straddle his hips.

 

He wondered if Akihito still had the courage to pursue now it was all happening, so he dropped back on the bed to admire their position, because Akihito’s flush face and kiss swollen lips were in full view as moon light streamed through the balcony doors from the foot of the bed.

 

That blonde mop of hair was a mess already from their sky diving endeavor, but something about it being in a bedroom made it so much more enticing, this was a position he could get used to, that was for sure.

 

“Sweet. M-maybe I could meet him some day.” And there it was... the uncertain comment that he’d normally have thought coy and endearing, if it weren’t for the actual suggestion which wouldn’t happen in a millions years.

 

“Fuck no.” Mikhail spat back without thinking, “He’ll probably want to take you from me, over my dead fucking body. You’re mine.” He’d run his hands up Akihito’s lean thighs and dug his fingers in without thinking in his possessiveness, but before he could realize his apparent non-mistake; Akihito was already attacking him anew with a self-satisfied laugh before their lips connected properly. And okay, he’d make a note of being possessive again if Akihito liked it enough to laugh like that.

 

“That was cute.” Akihito eventually giggled to him as they rolled around on the bed to change position.

 

“Cute!?” he found himself bristling back as he moved up in between those spread legs and splayed Akihito out before him, blonde hair tumbled against his white sheets, and Akihito was _still_ laughing teasingly at him even as he pinned those tattooed hands down with his own in mock threat.

 

“You won’t think I’m cute when I’m fucking you, all you’ll really be able to think about is how good it feels.” And his own hot tease was enough to wipe the look off Akihito’s face, enough to make him squirm underneath and whine in distraction as Mikhail rolled his hips down in emphasis.

 

Their silly small talk was forgotten then, at fucking last as Mikhail took the lead and set to work on memorizing Akihito’s body. Those hands buried themselves back in his hair once more as he kissed his way down to that trim waistline to push the shirt up.

 

Akihito was so damn sensitive, Mikhail didn’t even know where to begin, but he knew he’d hit the jackpot with a body like this to play with.

 

The way that limber body shuddered as fingers brushed his already hardened nipples, the way he arched off the bed as Mikhail palmed at his jeans, the breathlessness as he undressed him, those increasingly tight hands in his hair that were holding on for dear life.

 

Visions of a moon lit Akihito on display before him on his bed, out of breath with glazed eyes were going to plague him every time he shut his eyes.

 

“Fuck. You are not allowed to be this sexy.” He declared as Akihito let go of his hair so he could sit back and admire his prize. His own pulse was thumping in his throat, his own breathing heavy and his blood hot. Twitching urges tickled his fingers as he longed to dive back in and explore, to touch and taste and claim because this was _all his._

Moonlight from outside give that smooth skin a silver sheen, the highlighted scars glowed eerily; and he vowed to find out how Akihito got every single damn one of them.

 

Small dips and curves of his collar bones that he longed to savor, the lines of his ribs shifting with each writhing breath, the way those tattooed arms moved like darkness amidst the pastel light; leading up to that dragon that kept its permanent vigil of strength on Akihito’s shoulder, and the serene Koi fish on the other that kept this person grounded and level headed.  

 

It was all some sort of visual hypnotism that rendered him motionless.

 

But the scrutiny only flamed the color in Akihito’s cheeks more, made him more self conscious because Mikhail knew the look on his face must have been pure hunger. “Oi, it’s rude to stare.” Akihito uttered under a hand that’d just gone up to his face to hide it. “You… it’s your turn now.”

 

Mikhail couldn’t help but laugh, couldn’t help but want to tease Akihito more and _more_ , after all; Akihito thought he was attractive enough to draw on a napkin outside a coffee shop, he’d seen Akihito eyeing his forearms, his chest and his hands on more than one occasion, and now he was going to see the rest.

 

“Watch then… Akihito.”

 

He locked eyes with hazel ones staring up at him as he took his clothes off slowly, saw the curiosity, lust and passion peak as he worked at undoing his belt, watched those eyes widen as he bared his body and threw his shirt aside to face him equally as exposed.

 

“Oh my god….” Akihito deadpanned and he clenched those crimson fists in his own hair this time. “You… are so… ugh. I don’t even think I could draw a body that perfect. That is not fair.”

 

Of course that would swell Mikhail’s ego, as well as other parts of him, fuel his vanity and have him chuckling as Akihito eyed him over, a compliment had never been so damn good.

 

“It’s yours, touch me, Akihito.” Came his low prompt as he picked up Akihito’s hands, drew him up, closer because he didn’t want to be far apart anymore, and placed those soft fingers against his chest.

 

The silent eye contact they held breached the quiet as Akihito’s hands gingerly explored, rubbing up and outwards, back down to his stomach and further down to trace his pelvic muscles, increasing the heat between the two of them.

 

He let Akihito go on despite his waning self-restraint, the touches became automatic, instinctive movements of an artist drawing lines and painting the picture in his head. This is what Mikhail wanted, the real reverence, he wanted Akihito to admire the real him, not some ideal drawing on a soft bit of paper, and it was happening.

 

Hands continued to roam, up his back, across his shoulders and down his arms to entwine with his fingers, Akihito held on and squeezed, and looked up to him for reassurance as he did so. “Misha…” the whisper echoed through out the room and up Mikhail’s spine. His name had never sounded so real in his life, there was actual meaning there, acknowledgment on an equal level, something no one else had ever given him.

 

Like the roller coaster this night already was, with its ups and downs, gut wrenching drops and butterfly inducing highs; Mikhail plummeted once more as his control finally snapped at that call of his name.

 

This primal need took over then, he pinned Akihito to the bed with his body, with more messy dry rutting as he kissed him, clashing teeth filled with urgency and the desperation for more pressure. He wanted it to go faster and slower all at the same time, wanted to savor this and pay attention to each moan he drew out, but at the same time his own desires drowned it all out, and Akihito only egged him on by bucking up against him, drawing more friction with his thighs tight around his waist and fingers digging into his arms.

 

“Are you clean?” he still had sense enough to ask into the shell of Akihito’s ear as he pushed briefs down, as he wrapped his hand around Akihito’s dick and pumped slowly, feeling it swell with the stimulation and grow firmer at his touch. And fucking hell, the way that delicate jaw fell open with a choked gasp should definitely be illegal.

 

“Mm, yeah.” The Japanese managed to huff in between panting breaths.

 

“Clean, _clean?”_ he emphasized again, because there was only one-way Mikhail wanted to do this, but he needed to be sure.

 

Hazel eyes clouded with arousal cleared in acknowledgement for a moment, and that adorable mess of a bedhead nodded in another confirmation.

 

“Do you… trust me enough when I say I am too?” Mikhail managed to breathe out, he was nearly too far-gone to wait for an answer, who would have thought Akihito could manage to make him lose it too.

 

He did register another shy nod as Akihito wrapped himself tighter around him in assurance.

 

“Good, cos by the time I’m done, I’ll have marked you mine, Akihito. And once you’re mine; you can never truly be clean again…”

 

That greedy part of him wanted to brand Akihito, so that the whole world would know that he was _with_ Mikhail Arbatov. Akihito’s existence would never be the same, his life would forever be tainted with the fact that his partner is the leader of the Russian Bratva. He should feel guilt for dragging Akihito in, remorse maybe for some of the things Akihito might go through, but there was none of the sort, he knew Akihito could handle it; he was strong, willful and feisty, and not naïve to danger.

 

So no, instead there was this sense of urgency to hurry it up, this unsightly craving to dirty Akihito even further, so that the lines between their lives were so blurred that there was no way to tell the difference ever again.

 

Actions always spoke louder than any words ever could, tonight he would show Akihito exactly what he meant.

 

And he did, he unraveled them both into an incoherent, sweating, mess as Mikhail sucked on Akihito’s neck, his collarbones, his chest, and traced his hand down in between Akihito’s legs.

 

The ache in his groin throbbed, his own breathing hitched at hearing Akihito’s stuttered breath as he ran his fingers, wet with lubrication from his nightstand, over Akihito’s entrance.

 

Mikhail’s head was spinning, on this drug worthy high because it was clear Akihito hadn’t been touched in a long time, and even more clear that he’d never been touched with skilled hands, and deep down, in some _extremely_ domineering part of him; he liked the fact, more than he should.

 

As he prepared him, his fingers pumping in, adding in one after another, scissoring, circling and curling until he found the spot that made his lover utter his name again, he couldn’t suppress the his own desire for even more intimacy, this insane urge to be closer, he needed more contact, needed to kiss him more, harder.

 

He needed to be deeper inside, and the way Akihito clenched his legs together in want around his hand told him that the artist needed it too, but just didn’t know how to ask for it, yet.

 

As he positioned himself, he smirked inwardly; because it was the typical top and bottom position, the most ordinary way people could fuck, but as he pushed the head of his dick into that velvet heat, feeling that stretched ring of muscle give way so he could glide in tight inch by tight inch until their hips were flush; he decided it that right now it was the best instead.

 

Mikhail could face him, press their foreheads together as he quelled his urge to drive forward with everything he had; because Akihito was so fucking hot inside, so tight, so soft and he wanted to _move –_ he craved that stimulation and friction, so much so he that his muscles were already clenching for the movement.

Still they managed to smile in between panting kisses and shared breaths as Akihito adjusted to his size, could touch chest-to-chest, groin-to-groin, and skin-to-skin.

 

And just as he was wondering how long it was going to take for Akihito to find his sassy mouth again, to flare up with that cheekiness that drove him crazy and say something daring; Akihito beat him to it.

 

“What was that about making me feel so good, that I won’t think you’re cute anymore?” and to add to it, Akihito clenched down around him and pulled him in ever further with the most mind blowing rock of his hips that had Mikhail groaning in the crook of Akihito’s neck as he got exactly what he needed.

 

Exhilaration at the challenge forced the growl up his throat as he regained control, made his dick throb and had a feral smile splitting his face because fuck, even in bed Akihito was so much fun.

 

“You little shit, I’ll show you.” But his rumble had no harshness in it whatsoever.

 

Before Akihito could laugh back, or get another one of those sassy ass remarks out; Mikhail was already grinding down, angling his hips and pulling a moan from Akihito’s mouth that made Mikhail see stars because he could get off on that reaction alone.

 

Sweat slicked their skin as Mikhail kept moving, rolling his hips forward and burying himself over and over, he started off slow and deliberate, but Akihito’s moans grew in volume, they turned into gasps of ‘oh god’, ‘so good’ and the cry of his name in his ear again and again, and it only made his own need desperate. 

 

Now he was snapping his hips forward as he gripped the soft skin of Akihito’s ass to draw him nearer, groaning in Akihito’s mouth and shuddering in pleasure as Akihito’s insides stroked him up and down his length, skin slid across skin, nails raked down his back and Akihito met his thrusts with needy bucks of his hips as they both frantically sought out more friction.

 

“I need, ngh, I need.” Akihito managed to break away and find his voice, hoarse and utterly wrecked and fuck if Mikhail hadn’t heard anything more erotic than that.

 

“You need what? Tell me, I’ll give it to you.” He’d stopped to stare Akihito dead in the eye, to lock him down with his gaze and keep them both teetering on the edge of what was going to be an earth shattering release.

 

“T-touch me.”

 

“Hm, thought you’d never ask.”

 

Then, the whole world fell away as he pushed them both into bliss, all there was as he jerked Akihito in his hand and thrust forward was the heat coiling in his groin and the goose bumps up his spine.

 

The vision of Akihito’s mouth falling open in a silent cry as he arched off the bed and gripped at the sheets as he came was so fucking ethereal that he’d probably have dreams about it.

 

Akihito clenched around him, his entire body quaking with pleasure and drew Mikhail’s out too.

 

Mikhail heard himself groan long and low somewhere in the back of his head behind all the pleasure, felt hips stutter, felt the heat of his release spread through Akihito’s insides as the tension uncoiled up through his body and all the way down to his fingers and toes as he fucked Akihito slowly to wring every last drop from them both.

 

All there was for a while was the sound of heavy breathing as they tried to regain themselves with Mikhail issuing more kisses to Akihito’s the rhythm of Akihito’s heart. That was until Akihito tried and failed to stifle a laugh under his hands.

 

“What?” Mikhail deadpanned as he pulled out and fell to the side, catching Akihito off guard because as he did so he pulled the smaller man on top of him so that their chests were now stuck together with sweat among other things. They really should get cleaned up, Mikhail knew, but he still couldn’t help but want to be close, to keep touching, and what better way to do that than this, even if he had no idea if this was okay or not.

 

But Akihito was laughing again, looking up at him with this cheeky sarcasm that only made him squeeze the firm body in his arms tighter.

 

“I was just thinking, we are like, one of those cliché movie couples that fuck real intense and then probably cuddle or something, and then you just did that, haha. Fuck, I’m good.” And those pearly white teeth flashed a smile that forced Mikhail’s own laughter, because the same thing had crossed his mind earlier and that’s when he remembered Akihito was just as clueless about this as him. Thank fuck for that.

 

“Ha! I was thinking about that in the car on the way here.” He found himself admitting with a ruffle of Akihito’s sweat dampened hair.

 

“No way.” Akihito blinked back.

 

“Yes way, but as for the good part, don’t you think that was all me instead, hm?” the Japanese was glaring at him before he even finished, that shyness had all but fallen away and Akihito’s buttons were so easy, and fun to press when he was like this.

 

“Hey. I’ll show you good.” The reaction he got then was not was he was expecting though, but he’d more than happily take this instead.

 

Akihito sat up and straddled his hips with mischief on his face, naked and wet between the legs; the younger blonde shifted back and forward, lining Mikhail’s fast hardening dick with the cleft of his ass.

 

Fuck having a shower; Mikhail decided as his lust mounted at the sight before him, that could wait.

 

“Go on, do your worst then.” He drawled his dare.

 

In answer; Akihito sunk slowly down onto his dick and began to wreck them both all over again.

 

Oh yeah, he was fun in bed alright. He couldn’t wait to see what else this thing of theirs had in store.

 

 

*

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consent with your partner about protection/no protection is important people. Go Misha you gentleman.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not edited. many mistakes :S trying to keep the updates somewhat regular is hard -_-

 

 

*

 

“Ah, shit.” Mikhail grumbled to himself as the morning breeze of St Petersburg brushed over his skin. The nights he actually stayed at home always led to this exact same morning in the summer.

 

It was revitalizing to wake up and watch the hustle and bustle of the city in the morning. The canals outside his apartment framed by their cobblestone streets, tourists up bright and early hoping to get a full day of sight seeing in, locals walking by and taking the city’s beauty for granted.

 

The brick buildings, the colored domes of cathedrals with blues and whites, reds and golds – it was all something that emblazoned him with pride, Russia. He lived for this; and he’d probably die for it, too.

 

He wasn’t cursing that though, he was cursing this evolved feeling of satisfaction, an unknown need had been sated, he didn’t know what it was, maybe he was a lonely bastard after all, maybe he craved warmth more than he thought and he really was just a soft cock, but the feeling as he stood out on his balcony this time was definitely different. It was so cliché that even he was cringing at himself.

 

It was different because there was a dead to the world blonde sprawled in a mess of colorful limbs across the bed through the open doors behind him, breathing softly and mumbling in Japanese every so often. Akihito had been completely oblivious to Mikhail laying next to him for hours and tracing the scars on his skin with his fingers.

 

He’d looked over the marks he’d left on Akihito’s body the night before, next to the scars, over the top of them, and he’d wanted to do it all over again.

 

But he’d restrained himself in favor for his usual routine, because in the end he’d really fucking let loose, knocked Akihito’s challenge for six and fucked him face down against the mattress, made him keen, made him beg and plea, and filled every shred of the Russian’s sadistic fibers with pleasure. He’d whispered sweet nothings in Akihito’s ear, hurt and soothed him simultaneously as Mikhail drove his existence into Akihito’s body.

 

Satisfaction on his part, on both their parts didn’t even begin to cover it, they’d taken a shower and fallen back into bed in a tangle, and he was pretty sure Akihito was asleep before that adorable head had even hit the damn pillow. Mikhail knew for sure he’d be sore this morning; letting him sleep was the best thing to do.

 

Despite all that though, he wanted more of it, now.

 

He wanted Akihito to wake up.

 

*

 

Akihito woke to blaring light in his eyes, aches in his body and the feeling of being hit by a train.

 

Confusion and panic welled inside of him as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings, plush navy curtains gathered with silken ties revealed a set of open French doors and the blue sky scattered with wispy clouds beyond, carved wooden furniture right out of a 16th century palace, crisp white walls and a ceiling with golden scrollwork across its vaulted surface.

 

He felt like he’d woken up back in time, and was in some rich palace and this was definitely the master suite. What the actual fuck.

 

But as he slowed down and scanned the room again, registered the scattered clothing and pains in particular places, it all sunk back in to become reality, and that’s when his eyes found the broad skin of Mikhail’s bare back standing on the balcony looking over the city by himself.

 

Last night, the memory was enough to bring heat to his cheeks. He’d been utterly lost with Mikhail’s touch, with all his previous partners it’d been more like a rush to finish for that one small burst of satisfaction to convince yourself of each other’s affection. Last night though, Mikhail had blown all his past experiences out the window, call it cheesy, call it whatever the hell you want, but he never thought it was possible to feel that good. So much so that he’d even gone back for more.

 

He’d got more than he bargained for the second time around though, and that was a distracting thought he could do without right now.

 

Instead he chose to focus on this morning. He watched as a small gust tussled Mikhail’s wavy blonde hair, rippled the pair of sweat pants that hung low around his hips, and found its way inside to send a chill through him as Akihito looked on. Next to him on the nightstand a napkin fluttered at the corner, flicking up to flash a glimpse of a leaden face just like the one that was looking over the city right now.

 

For some reason Akihito knew Mikhail did this often, stood out there on that balcony to look at St Petersburg as the sun rose, alone as the world woke up and carried on without a clue as to who was watching them. Controlling them, Akihito thought in the back of his head.

 

Alone. Akihito thought again. That was the only word that could come to mind, like when you named a piece of art, it was instinctual the label that you put on it. If the image before him right now was on canvas - and he had every intention to make it so - then that’s what he’d call it. Those broad shoulders and that tall frame stood a beacon in the skyline framed by those doors, rough hands braced on the marble railing, a posture that stood solitary, and a resounding strength emanated that proved Mikhail was who he said he was.

 

Everything he needed to know was in the picture he could see right now, the instinct honed body with taut skin and carved muscle, the effortless stance, the real life battle scars on his back, and most of all that gold ring on Mikhail’s finger that caught his eye in the morning sun.

 

Ugh. He still didn’t want to think about it. All he wanted to do was carry on the way they were, the way they had been, and have some fun while it lasted. He’d left all his troubles in Japan with his parents and their stupid boss, Asami whatever his name was and _fuck_. Should he tell Mikhail about that?

 

Nah. It’s not like he’d ever meet his parents to find out anyway. His luck was shit, but not _that_ shit.

 

With more procrastinating non-choices made, he pushed it all away yet again as he decided to interrupt Mikhail’s balcony musings.

 

“Oi! I’m hungry!” he barked to snap Mikhail out of it, because he was getting lonely too in his fucking massive bed.

 

The Russian turned with a smirk, “And good morning to you too, I’ve said it before, but you sleep like a damn corpse.” In quick fluid strides Mikhail was at the bed, crawling down on it with a childish smile and trouble writ on his face.

 

“I can feed you.”

 

“I’m not that sort of hungry.” Akihito flushed, he was no good at that sort of thing.

 

“Fuck. You’re too appealing right now.” The Russian sighed.

 

“Hah?”

 

“ _Maybe_ I’m the one who’s hungry.” Just like so many times before, Mikhail stripped all his control as bare as his skin currently was with his mere presence, the way Mikhail’s hands caged him in either side of his head, the way his body loomed above, both a shield and a trap at the same time. His eyes deep and dark roved up and down, taking in Akihito’s morning wood that set the hunger in those ashen eyes alight. “Sorry… I told myself I’d hold back, but it seems I can’t.”

 

Kisses like fire trailed down Akihito’s body then, and the only thing he really registered after Misha pulled his briefs down and exposed him to the cool morning air was pleasure. Oh, he heard himself gasping as he screwed his eyes shut and threw his head back against the pillows, he felt the crescents his nails dug into his palms even as he clung to the sheets, he felt the heat of Mikhail’s tongue on him, working around the head and dipping into his slit before taking him all into that soft mouth.

 

Mikhail was relentless, giving him wave after wave of stimulation that had him sobbing because it felt so fucking good and he didn’t know what to _do_ , all he actually managed was to shudder and quake with quivering legs as he felt himself slipping.

 

“I’m gonna… ngh. Mishaa.” And he was whining in Japanese without knowing, desperate for more, but at the same time not wanting to finish in the Russian’s mouth.

 

A gentle tug on his hand reassuring him it was fine was all the notice he got as Mikhail swallowed him back once more, laving his tongue in firm circles around his length before hollowing his cheeks out with the most mind shattering drag of those skilled lips back up to the tip.

 

“Oh, g-god.” The words spilled from his own mouth even as he spilled into Mikhail’s with uncontrolled thrusts of his hips, the orgasm ripped through him and had his body rigid against the sheets as the Russian milked him, swallowing back each wave of his pleasure like it was his own, sucking every last ounce of feeling from him, until he was nothing but a boneless panting mess with Mikhail falling back on the bed beside him to look at his handy work.

 

“Hmm, not bad.” Was the husky comment, the heat of Mikhail’s skin on his arm roused him, bringing him back around to a blown pair of grey eyes searching his face, looking into him and prodding at all his vulnerabilities, it wasn’t enough to feel naked in front of him, it was as if everything was laid bare, as if Misha could tell _everything_ just from looking at him, and there was nothing he could hide even if he wanted to. Goosebumps raised his skin not because of the breeze that whispered through the still open doors, he wasn’t cold; he was burning.

 

He willed himself to look elsewhere, to rip his eyes away from the ones captivating him, and appreciated the up close view of Mikhail’s body in the morning light, and hot fucking damn, it was even better than last night. From here he could see the scars close up, see how raised and patterned they were across Mikhail’s taut skin. Those definitely looked like they were from something bad, and he wondered how many times this man had come close to dying.

 

The feel of his muscles under his fingers was imprinted in his mind, just as the feel of a pencil or brush in his grip was, and as if seeking out the memory, he found himself reaching out again to start at Mikhail’s collarbones. Akihito marveled as his tattooed hand traced down to that thick chest, his Japanese Chrysanthemum hovered over where Misha’s heart was; the crimson intense and shocking against Mikhail’s pale skin, and that sort of imagery was way too intimidating for him to even fucking contemplate right now.

 

Choosing to move on; Akihito then trailed down between the pectoral muscles and along each line of his ribs, he felt the firm ridges of each of his abdominals, and followed the line of his pelvic muscles until he hit Mikhail’s waist band and oh…

 

“Keep going.” Mikhail rasped, because there was another firm muscle bulging from his pants that needed attention, Akihito could see a dark grey patch of moisture stand out vividly compared to the light grey of Mikhail’s sweats, his eyes shot up to the Russian’s face and that’s when he finally saw how heavy Mikhail was breathing, the steady inhale and exhale of hot breath as the older man fought to restrain himself.

 

Two gentle fingers tugged at his wrist lightly, bringing his hand flat against the rise in Mikhail’s pants. “Touch me too, Akihito.” Came the prompt.

 

With butterflies in his throat and his heart pounding in his ears, he slipped his fingers under the waistband and into the stickiness of Misha’s briefs to wrap his hand around the sizeable length and squeeze gently.

 

It throbbed hot and heavy in his grasp, grew firmer with his touch as he felt the pulse in the thick vein on its underside. The Russian closed his eyes with a small roll of his hips into Akihito’s palm and groaned quietly, and _he_ made Mikhail make that noise, he was the one effecting him like this and that was much more fucking distressing than knowing Mikhail’s occupation, much more terrifying than the fact that he let all his control into the hands of another – because it meant that _this_ was real, and it wasn’t just some summer fling while he was away on his trip, if Mikhail was willing to let go of control too, then he might need to think things through a little more and thinking was never his damn forte.

 

“Keep going just like that.” The whisper traveled up his spine as if he was the one being touched and put a dampener on his wet tissue thoughts, that’s right, thinking wasn’t his strength, so he wouldn’t do that, he’d cross any bridges when he fucking came to them.

 

So he tightened his grip and pulled the soft skin of Mikhail’s dick down as he did so, slowly right down to the base before the glide right back up to the tip. The groan he got in response was louder now, and somehow he wanted to see Mikhail lose it too, he wanted to know how far he could pull this person under with him.

 

With his eyes glued to Mikhail’s face and drinking in every reaction to his action, taking in the way those long blonde lashes clenched his eyes shut, listening to every sighed breath as Akihito kept his hand moving, kept slicking the Russian’s length with his own precome.

 

It all made him want to do more, and soon he was pulling, twisting, and tugging in desperation for more of Mikhail’s reactions, that strong jaw clenched with a hissed intake of breath, a calloused hand shot out to grip onto his forearm, the nails dug in, and Mikhail’s hips started to roll to match his movements.

 

Anticipation made him go faster, his strokes surer, his breath held until Mikhail hummed deep and low in the back of his throat as he came in hot spurts into Akihito’s hand, only then did the Russian’s grip on his forearm slacked and his jaw unclench, and they both released their pent up breath together as the Russian rode it out with weak thrusts of his hips.

 

“Mm, not a bad way to get the day started if you ask me.” Misha smiled lazily and opened one eye in a wink to look at him as Akihito pulled out from the mess he’d made of Mikhail’s pants.

 

Now that it was over he couldn’t believe it, a breathless Mikhail in the sheets had him flushing with embarrassment because he’d really been the one to fucking do that.

 

The grin split Mikhail’s face further into something with notes of trouble and mischief, revealing perfect teeth and curling the corners of his eyes. “Oooh, you’re cute in the mornings! Like a blushing bride.”

 

“Fuck off, bride my ass. Oi! I’m not cute, don’t cling, what are you doing?!” Akihito sputtered indignities and fought come covered hand and all as Mikhail began touching him all over, kissing his neck and tugging him closer, that was until Akihito worked out that Misha was really just being clingy in the most adorable selfish, child like way, and he couldn’t help cracking up, because Mikhail was meant to be this tough gangster and right now he was anything but that.

 

“You’re the cute one.” he shot out without thinking, but Mikhail just groaned and flopped his head against Akihito’s chest as he settled on top of him. “You’re heavy…”

 

“Shut up. I can’t help it. I’m new at this and you make me do all this sappy shit, it’s your fault.” And was Mikhail Arbatov actually pouting?

 

Akihito forgot all his aches and pains as he lost it with laughter, while Mikhail kept thinking to himself about it in his own quiet.

 

As he calmed, more bursts of wind swept through the doors to freshen their morning, and Akihito thought he’d probably never known relaxation such as this even with his sticky hand and sore ass.

 

“You know, I was nervous as shit to tell you last night.” Came the eventual breaking of their silence, Mikhail didn’t bother to shift, didn’t bother to look at him, just admitted it like he was saying that grass was green, or better yet that blood was red.

 

“You seemed cool as a damn cucumber to me.”

 

“That’s cos I am cool.”

 

“You’re a goofball.”

 

Mikhail looked at him with flat eyes then “That’s a low blow coming from a napkin stalker.”

 

“Hey! You….” Akihito tried to object as he sat up.

 

“Got nothing to say to that one do ya?” came the tease with a poke of Mikhail’s tongue.

 

He gave up and fell back against the mattress. “No.”

 

“Haha, I win.”

 

More time passed, light caresses of skin and the occasional kiss was all they shared as they both lay there in the peace of each other’s company – and once again Akihito found himself thinking he was in way too deep, way too invested in something when this was only meant to the first stop on his travels.

 

“Why?” Akihito spat out after a time to break his chain of thought.

 

Fingers traced circles on his hipbone, up and around in a mindless pattern as Mikhail thought about his answer, “… Well, it’s not like it’s this little thing, and then when you told me what your pare-”

 

The harsh sound of a ringing cellphone split through the room, infringing the stillness and bringing them back to the real world. Akihito knew it wasn’t his, that wasn’t his ring tone, but Mikhail made no move to get up and answer.

 

“You can answer it, oi.” Akihito prompted with a punch of that firm shoulder, noting a particularly big scar that spanned his deltoid and that one screamed near death to Akihito, another reminder about who Mikhail really was.

 

“Fine, alright. Don’t hurt me, you brawler.” Mikhail winked as he got up and found his still blaring phone.

 

“Shut up, it was a few fights!” Akihito managed to shout before the man left the room. “Like you can talk.” He finished to himself.

 

 

*

 

“What do you want?” Mikhail snapped at the phone without checking who was calling. It had better be good or someone was going to die slowly and painfully as an example for everyone else. He’d already sent word out this morning that he wasn’t to be disturbed and it wasn’t even half an hour fucking later, those useless shits.

 

 _“That is no way to talk to your mother, Misha.”_ Came the motherly scold from the other end.

 

That was, he’d sent work to everyone but his parents. “Oh, morning Ma!” he found himself smiling, because he had some gloating to do and maybe the pleasantly fresh ache in his groin had something to do with it – not with standing the mess, “You will never guess who has a boyfriend?” came his singsong.

 

 _“No, not Yuri!?”_ His Mom feigned a gasp as she mocked him.

 

“Tsk! Haha, you are so funny, you Old Bat.” He flat lined back. It would have been fucking hilarious any other time.

 

_“Seriously though?”_

“Yup!”

_“That young man must be stupid if he decided to stay with you.”_ That undertone of genuine happiness for him was still there even though his mom continued to goad him, _“But, I am glad for you, Misha. Don’t fuck it up.”_

“You have so much faith in me, don’t you. You’re worse than the Old Man.”

_“He’s much too soft on you, that’s why. How did it happen? Is he with you? How did he take the business news? Oh never mind, you can tell me all about it when get there.”_

Now _that_ rang actual alarm bells, and alarms bells didn’t often go off in Mikhail’s head. “Oi. What are you talking about?” he fired back.

 

 _“That’s why I called, I just got off the plane at the airport. Your father has business here so we thought we’d take a short break and visit our only son. Aren’t you lucky?!”_ her overly cheerful voice oozed sarcasm and was the tell tale sound of a parent giving their kid a hard time.

 

“Ma, no.” It was too early in the morning, too early for Akihito, too early for them both. He’d just got done explaining to Akihito that he was a crime boss, he didn’t need add his no nonsense mother to the mix, or his politician of a father who advised the president and used to command an upper echelon of the KGB back in the Soviet days.

 

If people thought Mikhail was scary, they had another thing coming because his old man could be fucking terrifying when he chose to be – Mikhail had learnt from the best.

 

 _“It’s too late my boy, the driver is already going in your direction.”_  And her tone was final.

 

“Uggh, whyyy?” he huffed as he hung up, he missed hearing his mother’s laughter on the other end saying she would see him soon.

 

Mikhail turned around to head back to his room, squeezing the phone so hard his knuckles lost all color, telling Akihito about his line of work suddenly seemed like a walk in the fucking park compared to telling him that he’d be meeting his parents in less than an hour.

 

_Yeah, we kissed and fucked and feelings happened, now meet my bat shit crazy family the day after it all occurred and try to hide the limp I gave you from fucking you too hard while you smile and laugh at my mom’s lame jokes._

The thought of sending him home was thrown away before it even fully crossed his mind because he hadn’t set up proper security measures yet, and because it wasn’t a fucking option. He wanted to lounge around his house all day with his goddamn boy friend and parents or not that’s what he was going to do.

 


	17. Chapter 17

Notes:

This song makes me think about this pairing a lot (as well as Akihito and Asami)  [Stay Cover by Our Last Night](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Aufxr0Y0-g)  (also one of my favourite bands)

For those who were asking: I drew inspiration about Akihito with tattoos from [this](http://orig08.deviantart.net/7f6d/f/2009/170/e/1/e1d861873b90a6194a32dc2681259d00.jpg) <\--- click for the link, the artwork is not mine and I claim no credit for it in any way hence why I haven't posted the pic itself and just the link instead.

* * *

 

Mikhail traipsed back into his room, each step bringing him further away from his corny ideas of morning coffee in bed with not a butt ugly subordinate in sight, cooking in his unused kitchen, showing Akihito around his renaissance style apartment that over looked the canals, and closer to a worse situation than last night.

 

Not that Mikhail actually had any fucking experience in the whole meeting parents deal, but he still knew that in actual loving relationships that people had; meeting parents was a big thing – and for fucks sake he’d already put enough on Akihito’s plate without this damn road block to deal with.

 

There was still so much he wanted to talk about with him today too, about what was going to happen now that Mikhail didn’t actually have to make the artist stay with him, about what Akihito _actually_ wanted to do, oh, Mikhail couldn’t forget about Akihito’s aspirations to travel and see the world, and fuck if he wasn’t the most deserving person on earth to have those aspirations fulfilled.

 

The Bratva leader knew he was an atrocious person, truly one of the worst, but he never thought of himself as this bad, the internal battle waging war inside him right now was bringing even more horrid things to the surface. He wanted Akihito to see the endless wonders he’d dreamed about, to run his hands through the green grass of different continents, to look at the dusk colored sky of both hemispheres, to see all the constellations and feel the forces of nature where the oceans met in clashes of white wash.

 

Except he didn’t want that at all, at the same time all he wanted was for Akihito to actually _stay,_ stay for however long this thing lasted, he was under no illusions that shit would last forever, it wasn’t a fucking romance novel, if it ended then so be it, but in the meantime the monster inside that was greed and lust, this insatiable hunger to monopolize and an unquenchable desire to possess _everything_ , all the fucking things that made him successful in being Mikhail goddamn Arbatov, were all focused – no, concentrated – on one single person.

 

None of those things had ever been associated with another human before, and oh, what a little crush could do for his sense of humanity, or the lack there of he was currently feeling. It was only the fact that it was that resilient artist who when push came to shove, wouldn’t take any bullshit, that made it fine – anyone else wouldn’t be able to handle it.

 

Yeah, getting that out of the way, actual communication today might have been nice, Akihito probably had things to ask him too, but no. That Alina Arbatov, his mother, had other ideas while his old man, Grigory, probably just got dragged along for the ride.

 

“Ah, what’s done is fucking done, I suppose.” The Russian sighed to himself as he pushed the oak door to his room open – and he thought he’d find Akihito still sprawled across the bed but he was nowhere to be seen.

 

Shit, he hadn’t actually told Akihito yet and the Japanese had already bolted. “Fuck.” The curse crawled up his throat and hid under his breath as he stepped further into his room to hear his ensuite tap splashing in the porcelain sink.

 

Jesus, now he was being irrational to top things off – the dude had just gone to the damn bathroom. Getting ahold of himself with a mental slap and a frustrated growl, Mikhail cleared his head of shit and breathed in fresh resolve and self-control. Enough of that dithery dribble – Mikhail Arbatov didn’t fucking stress and he didn’t lose when it came to emotions either.

 

So he waltzed into the bathroom back to his usual self to clean himself up and get a fresh pair of briefs, and the sight that jumped out at him from the bathroom mirror was nothing short of heart stuttering.

 

There was Akihito with those fricken cute camo briefs back on, all planes of supple skin and slender muscle, roaring dragon and serene koi fish, nothing else; washing his hands in a world of his own. God, it was lucky Mikhail had other things on his mind right now, he groaned to himself inwardly as his eyes went back to those vivid colored hands.

 

Those hands that minutes ago had been down Mikhail’s pants and fuck the way those fingers touched him had brought goose bumps to his skin.

 

It wasn’t that Akihito had experience with that sort of thing, Mikhail knew he didn’t, it was just that he was fucking _good_ with those hands, soft and well kept on the inside, fingers deft and dexterous, the way they rolled over his head and squeezed on the way back down, so fucking good.

 

Not just that though, Mikhail came to realize he had a bit of an obsession with those hands, with the scarred knuckles that told of past demons, crimson flowers, the harbingers of new beginnings that spoke of pride in himself as a person, those fucking hands had touched him with meaning, and the Russian liked it, a lot.

 

He enveloped Akihito from behind, relishing the fright and instant sigh of relief when the smaller person cradled against his chest realized it was only him.

 

“Ah – oh, um, so is everything all good?” and that blush at their closeness was too cute, the way Akihito’s hands faltered as Mikhail took them in his to help wash them, rubbings his thumbs over those knuckles and taking in the precise lines of those tattoos.

 

Akihito was so much smaller than him, Mikhail’s entire frame outlined Akihito’s in the mirror’s reflection as they washed their hands together, a head taller, his shoulders wider and his chest broader, arms longer and neck thicker, Mikhail felt as if he was looking at the very picture of that ugly thing that wanted to ensnare Akihito in the trap of the Russian’s existence, to overwhelm him with the sheer nature of his person.

 

However the pinnacle that was Akihito stood firm in the reflection, his figure still substantial and dignified with strength on his bones and a surety in his stance and everything that screamed fight and never flight; there was also one thing about the both of them that was exactly the same, the scars and marks on their skin from the proverbial battles won. Akihito could handle a fucking visit from parents, he’d weathered way worse and the evidence was right in front of him.

 

“That was actually Alina, my mother, she’s just touched down at the air port and is going to be here soon.” The words came out surprisingly easy, considering.

 

By now Akihito had finished washing his hands, and had turned around in the cage of Mikhail’s arms to stare flat at him, unimpressed. “Oi, I know you think you’re funny, but that’s not a fucking funny joke.”

 

Fuck yeah, Akihito could do this, even if he thought it was a joke and handled it this well, it was better than a stuttered half assed reply, right now he was getting the full sass, and of course Mikhail couldn’t resist, so he played right along.

 

“Oho, but babe, do you see me laughing?” they met smiling gaze on not impressed glare as Mikhail sing songed.

 

That’s when Mikhail knew he’d misjudged, from this distance he even fucking felt Akihito’s heart rate increase, saw the panic slick his brow and the trauma from his own upbringing cloud his thoughts and Mikhail fucking raged inside because not only did Akihito distress over his own parents, but any parental figure like all he knew was neglect and abandon, too much weight on his shoulders and unrealistic expectations.

 

He saw the barriers rear up and the self-preservation appear and now Mikhail had _more_ questions – he’d known there was animosity there but this much? Maybe if it was this bad Mikhail could just fucking kill them and Akihito could be rid of them both.

 

“I.. need to go.”

 

“Hey hey hey.” Mikhail soothed as he reigned him in after following him to the bedroom, where the Japanese was getting dressed in haste, not the way Mikhail wanted this to go at all. In stress releasing grasps of his fingers he massaged Akihito’s tense shoulders as he looked him in the eye again, “Fuck, I’m no good at this sort of thing. Seriously, I know it’s not ideal, but you are my fucking boyfriend now whether you like it or not, I’m gonna make you a coffee that will blow your mind, cook you a huge breakfast and we’re gonna do all that cute morning after shit, okay? I have no fucking clue how things work in your house, but if you’re gonna trust me on at _least_ one thing right now, trust me when I say that this sort of thing in my house will be fine.”

 

Once again the heady feeling of having power over someone kicked in, Akihito calmed with each of his words, like convincing him sky diving was safe with a simple touch and a reassurance that Mikhail actually _meant,_ it happened the same right now – it was cruel, Akihito was giving it all over to Mikhail, his control, the one thing that he valued the most – and Mikhail would gladly take it if it meant he would stay, because it was too soon for trust yet.

 

Before any more doubt could tarnish their morning, Mikhail went on, determined to make the most of the day, “Plus, there’s not one thing they wont like about you anyway, so I don’t want you to meet them anymore than you do. I don’t like sharing.”

 

Rose-colored cheeks answered him coupled with a nervous laugh, that was more like it. “Don’t act so spoilt.” Akihito chided half-heartedly, Mikhail could feel his heart rate slowing as he caressed his neck and brought them together for another slow morning kiss.

 

“I can sulk all I want, my fucking house.” And maybe he was pouting a little. “Do you want me to have a spare change of stuff brought over from your hotel?”

 

“Huh? You can do that?” Akihito stopped dressing to look at him with a quizzical brow, so sweet, Mikhail thought as he restrained himself.

 

“Oho, Akihito, in Russia I can do pretty much anything.” And Mikhail wasn’t one to show off usually, except with Akihito he was finding out fast that what he was usually like was completely different when it came to being with this person. He was totally flaunting his power in front of this person.

 

“Haha, fuck, that’s gonna take some getting used to.” Introspection took Akihito away from him for a second, his mind somewhere else as he thought of something to do with it all, those normally care free features darkened in a way Mikhail thought not possible, that’s when gears began to grind in his own head, puzzle pieces jumping out at him and putting themselves together in flashes of his acute logic.

 

Mikhail had an inkling of an idea, the combination of parents, his own occupation and that brooding state of Akihito’s gave him a foreshadowing, but he couldn’t jump to conclusions, if Akihito had a past that haunting then he’d wait until the artist was sure enough to talk about it, or until the shit hit the fan.

 

But that was enough of that for now, “Nah, I’m still the same hunk you drew on your coffee napkin just over a week ago, come on, I’ll make you coffee. Extra strong, right?” before Akihito could sputter an answer or brood anymore; Mikhail was already dragging him by the wrist to his kitchen, showing him around the rooms down the hallway as they went.

 

 

*

 

Fuck, Akihito felt like such a loser. He’d nearly done a full flip out in front of Mikhail, like, full fucking flip out, he couldn’t even fucking remember the last time that happened, probably the day he left home.

 

Parents were a terrifying notion to Akihito, and he’d reacted before logic could play any part in it. Panic mode.  

 

All his previous gripes of not living up to expectations that he’d told himself he never cared about came back with a vengeance, more than ever before. It was all done and dusted with his own parents; the bridges burnt to ashes, and that was fine, but even the scent of disapproval from Misha’s parents would have him reeling, because he really actually fucking cared, a lot. He cared a lot about what Mikhail thought about him, so naturally that was going to translate to the people that raised him.

 

Holy fucking shit, he was meeting the leader of the Russian Bratva’s _parents!_

He was ashamed of his reaction, instantly he’d wanted to run, and Akihito fucking hated running, Mikhail knew he hated running, yet all it took was a few cooed words from Mikhail, a warm kiss and those controlling hands on his neck, and like some walking sedative the Russian had brought him back down into the realm of freaking out a little less.

 

Akihito was terrified and grateful about it all at the same time, that’s what made Misha so terrifyingly exciting in the first place; he could feel himself being drawn further in, and if he was meeting Mikhail’s parents on some random happenstance, then what was to stop it happening the other way around? For some reason, he knew it wouldn’t be pretty.

 

And he made the resolve that that situation could never, ever fucking come to pass, he didn’t want this new good thing to be tainted with this bad old thing, like mixing paint; once you combined the colors you’d never be able to get it back to what it used to be.

 

After that though, Misha acted like nothing had happened, he wasn’t overly chirpy or mocking to make him feel better, he didn’t make jokes to try make him laugh – more than usual anyway – he was just _Mikhail._

It’s like the Russian knew how to pacify him, it helped him chill, he taught Akihito how to use his fancy Italian coffee machine with its stainless steel pipes and brass fittings. They joked around in the kitchen like Mikhail promised they would, ate pastry and kissed some more because Misha was really clingy now that things were official for some reason and Akihito reveled in every second of it because he’d never been doted on before.

 

Akihito actually relaxed enough to take in the lavish carpets with tasseled edges and gold threadwork, the velvet lined furniture with wooden claws feet and high backing, the damask wallpaper and stark white edges of the ceilings, the chandeliers, the balconies with marble balustrades and bathrooms with copper bathtubs – an actual fucking mini palace apartment.  It suited Mikhail, this place, it was beautiful like him, traditional and in a class of its own, just like him, and yet Akihito didn’t find himself feeling out of place at all.

 

His clothes – _all his clothes, suitcase and everything-_ were dropped off by some suited up dude that looked him up at down in distaste at one glance of the ink on his arms and the scars on his hands, and that was a reaction he was used to at least, however the growl from Misha and the resulting order in Russian had the man bowing apologies and scampering off like he could feel the target sighted on his back. That… Akihito was not used to, but it was kinda cool; to have some judgmental fuck actually apologize for jumping to conclusions instead of Akihito having to fight over it.

 

“If anyone gives you trouble, you can knock their fucking block off or I’ll do it for you, okay?” Mikhail grumbled as he dragged Akihito’s suitcase down the hallway.

 

The thought of being in a fistfight after all these years was laughable; he’d get pounded in seconds, probably. “Never mind that, oi, why is _all_ my stuff here?!” he trailed after Mikhail in confusion.

 

“You stay here from now on.” The Russian simply deadpanned as he settled the luggage in the master suite with a self-satisfied smile and a way too handsome twinkle in his eye.

 

Akihito bristled despite the heat in his cheeks, “H-hey, don’t just go deciding things on your own.” And dammit, coyness had his words coming out all mixed up, his things in Mikhail’s room, sleeping in said room, it was like a fucking… “That’s just like moving in!” he blurt out.

 

That arrogant, fucking perfect smile grew wider with those perfect teeth and skilled lips, all the way to Mikhail’s sparkling grey eyes that gleaned with mischief. Doomed, he was so doomed.

 

A deep chuckle echoed through the room as Mikhail stalked forward and pinned him against the wall where they stood, groin to chest and a palm planted on the wall beside his head for caging good measure, “Didn’t I tell you, Akihito, that in Russia I can do anything I want, in fact if it weren’t for our impending visitors I’d fuck you right here against this wall, maybe I’ll leave some marks on your neck for my parents to see.” It was low, bold, it seeped into his bones and up his spine and drew the shiver out all the way to his fingertips. That handsome face hovered above his, blank and unreadable, before it cracked into another grin and the tension vanished with it. “But moving in sounds good, ha? Then we can get married with a huge white wedding, and get a dog and call it Lady, and a house on the prairie, and –

 

“Oh my god shut up, you giant cheeseball!” Akihito interrupted before the sap could go on, clamping a free hand over his mouth that was promptly licked by a hot tongue darting out from Mikhail’s lips. “Ew!”

 

“Fufu, got ya. Ahh, I know, that was bad even for me, I’m not sorry.”

 

“Yeah yeah, lemme get dressed, you clingy bastard.”

 

“Oho, you love it, don’t lie!”

 

The fun and games continued as Mikhail did his best to impede every effort of Akihito’s to get changed, kissing his back as he took his shirt off and smacking his bare ass to leave a hand print when he changed his pants, pulling him onto the bed and tugging his pants back off, in the end Akihito had to slap his hands away and finish getting dressed as quickly as possible, and it was just on time for the door bell to ring.

 

Akihito should have felt more panicked, flustered even, but he was so caught up in Mikhail’s mood that his heart simply skipped a beat before it fell back into it’s usual rhythm, he really did trust Misha – to this extent at least.

 

“Come on, let’s get the hard part over and done with, eh?” Mikhail smiled, and it was more fervent than the sunrise that had greeted him that morning, so he followed the broad back of Mikhail down the hall to the entrance.

 

His parents had already let themselves in as they got to the foyer, access key and all and now Akihito knew where Mikhail got his looks from, the long curled locks of gold framing the striking blue eyes of his mother, refined and beautiful with a wicked layer underneath, along with the imposing height, solid build, severity of presence that was his father, all the way down to those ever shifting grey eyes that could scour out everything down to your very soul.

 

The scrutiny of Mikhail’s father made him want to shrink, crawl away into whatever alcove or cupboard there was in the house, because he’d never met anyone more terrifying than this, expressionless and cold – the image of his own father and then some, this man with his slicked back white hair and air of superiority was in a class even above his son’s.

 

Maybe it was stupid to stay here today after all, he could feel the lump of mortification growing in this throat, that was until he was yanked from Mikhail’s grasp and into the hands of his mother, who was now looking at him with the warm smile and playful demeanor that Akihito had been privy to for the last week with Mikhail.

 

“Oooh, so you’re the one he’s been telling me about!” she bubbled in accented English, infectious and light, “Please take care of my son, he’s absolutely useless so you have your work cut out for you.” And before Akihito could even stammer an answer or gauge what was happening, his cheeks were being kissed one after another, and he was squeezed with a frightening amount of force from such a small woman.

 

“Oi, don’t go saying unnecessary things, you old bat, where’s my hello?” came the protest from behind him, as Akihito pulled away he watched the two Arbatov men hug each other roughly with claps on the back, a picture of familiarity and all the bonds that went with it.

 

That’s when Akihito _knew_ this was different, like the shining beacon on Mikhail’s hand with his ring that signified leadership; Akihito’s eyes found the matching wedding rings on the married couple’s fingers, maybe he noticed them more because his parents hadn’t worn theirs for as long as he’d been alive, but it still it was enough for Akihito be sure that this environment was like nothing he’d grown up with, this was a family in truth.

 

Mikhail’s dad sighed at his wife, before turning to him with those grey eyes that changed with the shift in attention, not cold in the least.

 

“Aline, don’t suffocate the young man, I’ve not been told your name?” Mikhail’s father reached out a hand, and even though he still wasn’t smiling, Akihito felt the welcome, he didn’t look at the scars on his knuckles or the tattoos on his arms, he looked Akihito in the eye like he was just another fucking person who deserved to be treated like one.

 

He knew it wasn’t as simple as that, that this meeting was it and it would all be fine and dandy, but still it was better than being weighed and measured instantaneously.

 

With a newfound confidence, he reached out to Mikhail’s father and grasped his hand in firm resolve and shook with the determination he now felt. “My name is Takaba Akihito, call me Akihito. Pleased to meet you.” And he could feel Mikhail watching him carefully, radiating warmth on his back because it was going exactly how Misha said it would, and Akihito was sure the Russian could smell his relief.

 

He stood firm in the face of the indifferent assessment as Akihito felt the palpable strength and ambition in his grasp through the handshake, but still those eyes were acknowledging him in a way no adult back home ever had, “Grigory Arbatov, and you’ve already met my wife, Aline. I hope we can get along, Akihito.”

 

Just like that it was done, the dreaded first meeting, because Mikhail’s mother, no, Aline, barged right back in to push her husband aside and took all of Akihito’s attention once more. “Just call him Grisha, he’s a shy one so don’t take any offence to his lack of words, right dear?”

 

“Ma, that’s my boyfriend, don’t cling to him, you’ll creep him out!” a new side of Mikhail manifested itself then as he bickered with his mother, he’d never seen Misha on the back foot before, and Akihito couldn’t help but laugh as he fell in beside Mikhail on their way back to the lounge.

 

“Coffee please, Misha.” Aline asked as they sat around the open French doors that led to another view of the canals on the other side of Mikhail’s apartment, Akihito would never get tired of these sights and he knew Mikhail had brought them here as a soothing distraction for him.

 

The pair that Akihito thought would be his undoing watched them both as Akihito turned to his boyfriend– and fuck that _really_ was going to take some getting used too – that was looking at him in the silent question of _will you be okay by yourself?_ Akihito shooed him away with a flick of his wrist because he could take care of himself, dammit.

 

This time yesterday Akihito was in a luxury bed in a hotel room, tossing and turning because he had a date that evening with a mysterious Russian who he knew next to nothing about and he’d been nervous as shit about it, now though, he was sitting in that Russian’s living room at this high class apartment, said Russian just so happened to be not only a criminal, but one of the biggest ones in Europe, to top it off; he’d spent the night in his bed being fucked beyond comprehension and to finish it all off he was sitting alone with _the_ parents while they waited on more coffee, because he fucking needed more than one.

 

“I hope Misha has shown you a good time during your stay?” Aline smiled to him as she sat back next to Grigory, hissing steam and the clinking of cups and dishes could be heard from the kitchen, the sound of Mikhail rushing to get back as fast as possible.

 

Thanking his lucky fucking usually unlucky stars for once at the easy question, Akihito answered with ease, because he hadn’t had a chance to talk much to anyone else this week apart from Mikhail. He got talking about the cathedral they’d first visited, the view of the harbor Mikhail had taken him to see, the food and architecture and all the things that had Akihito’s enthusiasm piqued enough for him to feel comfortable.  He didn’t even notice Mikhail come back in until another coffee was presented in front of his face.

 

“Ah! Thanks!” he accepted it gratefully as Mikhail kicked back next to him and stretched his long legs out with a yawn.

 

“Don’t mind me, you know, just interrupting your art talk in my own house.” Mikhail joked with a wink.

 

The morning turned into lunch without any serious questions, but every now and then he noticed a silent conversation between Mikhail and his father, and Akihito knew they would come.

 

 

*

 

 

Inadvertently, it ended up being Akihito who segued the conversation towards a place that made Akihito nervous; before he knew it he’d already dug himself into a hole.

 

He made the mistake of asking what Grigory and Aline did for a living, a seemingly innocent question, only to find out that Aline managed finances and money for Mikhail’s organization and that Grigory dealt with military politics and was a former KGB commander, they held nothing back from Akihito – it was a test if you will, however the answers made it obvious how Mikhail ended up in the position he was now in.

 

“Ah... So it runs in the family then.” Akihito commented offhandedly, he should be used to the idea of sinister occupations running in the family, after all his own was a good secret example – excluding him.

 

That’s when it happened; it was Grigory’s turn, those unreadable eyes were fixed on him as the man leant back in his chair with the poise of a person who had control at his fingertips and power at the push of a button.

 

“And what about you, Akihito? You majored in art yes, but what do your parents do?”

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a while, huh?

Here Akihito was, in this palatial living room in the house of his new ‘boyfriend’ who just so happened to be the leader of the Russian Bratva, sitting with his parents in what _should_ be a casual setting. Fucking _nope_.

 

This was worse than being locked up in the cells with thugs for a night, worse than facing the stare of a fed up cop who really couldn’t be bothered asking this punk kid the same questions because his answer was always the same-wrong one, worse than jumping off rooftops away from peeved yakuza and scraping his knuckles down the steel piping and being unable to hold a spray can for the next week.

_This_ was like being sat down in a real life damn interrogation, it shouldn’t feel like this, but it was his own indecision that put the weight on himself.

All he could think to do right now was lie, lie down to his fucking bones and through the skin of his teeth just as deception ran in his blood. Because here was this proud family, open and honest, loving and content to be who they were in the eyes of society, and then there was _his_ family; who weren’t any of those things.

 

Spilling his guts to Mikhail had been painless, easy even, only because Misha had this coaxing quality about him that made Akihito utterly powerless and careless of that fact, Misha was this unexplainable comfort, like the security of pulling your blankets up around your shoulders at night, the soothing addictiveness of the feeling of a pencil in your fingers and the rhythmic scratching sounds it makes against paper, or; in his teenage days that lulling whisper of a spray can venting all his frustrations at a brick wall.

  
Mikhail was this person you could sit in silence with and be at ease, someone you could get excited in front of and express your most colorful desires to, someone you could talk to about everything and nothing, so of course he’d ended up telling Mikhail about his not so normal upbringing that was completely normal to Akihito, cos it was the only thing he’d ever known.

Mikhail was the person Akihito could actually explain himself to, all apart from that one extra little thing. If he couldn’t tell Mikhail the truth about his parents yet, then he certainly couldn’t tell his parents.

 

Even though they were nice and genuinely interested in him as a human being; they were a completely different stroke of brush, because he couldn’t shake the feeling of expectation, most of the time Akihito really couldn’t give two fucks about what people thought of him, but holy fucking shit how he wanted the two people sitting in front of him right now to _actually_ like him.

The unfamiliarity he found in that feeling was new, a pressure his friends complained about when they met their significant other’s parents, and something he’d shrugged off until now because he’d thought it’d been stupid.

 

He should be honest, he should just fucking throw it all to that St Petersburg wind that swept his life into disarray from the moment it’d sent that napkin tumbling off the coffee table, he should tell the truth now, but it was so much easier to lie than to explain things to other people. It was easier to lie than embarrass himself, because the scariest part about people finding out you grew up in a home where truth was the real victim; was the label that came with it. He was Takaba Akihito; a university graduate with his whole career ahead of him, not the son of a crook or a by-product of their felonies.

 

Beside him, Mikhail waited with an unreadable face, his jaw set in a way that Akihito fucking revered for it’s sure edge and strong will. Gold lashes that were too pretty for any human twinkled in the St Petersburg sun beaming through the window, it would do no good to ruin this moment by complicating it more than it already was, because Akihito could feel something like contentedness unveiling itself to him, and he fucking craved it, so if that meant lying a little more then so be it.  He’d never considered himself a good person, anyway, at least that he had in common with Mikhail.

 

The only problem was he wasn’t the most convincing liar, pity he didn’t inherit that specific trait, so he decided keeping it simple would do. The whole less is more approach or whatever.

 

With a nervous scratch of his head to cover his pause that felt like an eternity in his head, but really had only lasted as long as it’d taken for Mikhail’s mom to put her coffee cup down; Akihito bit the proverbial bullet and got it over and done with. “Aha, yeah, I guess you could say I’m not as intellectual as my parents. My father is a district attorney in Tokyo, and my old lady runs her own emergency clinic in the city too.”

 

Before he’d even finished, there was already a hand mussing his hair to appease the situation some more, hard enough to rattle his brain, and gentle enough that the reassurance from the brush of Mikhail’s fingertips had goose bumps shivering down his spine and a smile splitting his cheeks, and fuck, the amount Akihito liked the Russian at that moment was actually terrifying. Feelings were scary!

 

“This guy is way too dumb to do anything like that.” Mikhail chided with a wink in his direction, before flicking Akihito’s nose with a poke of his tongue.

 

“Oi, shut up!” and of course Misha knew how to press his buttons more, take him so off track down a path of the Russian’s making that Akihito would happily follow. “I do what I want.” Akihito finished with arms stubbornly folded against his chest, baring his tattooed arms on full display in the sun’s light.

 

Aline simply chuckled at their exchange, and Akihito realized he’d nearly gone full goober mode with them sitting right there, the desire to crawl back into Mikhail’s huge bed and bury himself was real. Grigory though, was still concentrating his full attention on Akihito, and at that moment he realized that guy had seen right through his attempt to laugh it off.  

 

“So your parents don’t approve of your career choice, no?” Grigory probed, right on the money.

 

“Ah, something like that, yeah. We, um, never saw eye to eye, exactly.” And what else was he meant to say to make it obvious his family wasn’t like this one at all? Suddenly, it was nice to dive into the patterns of the ornate rug on the floor, the gold tassels on the end and the scrollwork patterns threaded throughout, so much to look at on the floor of all things!

 

“Hm. It shouldn’t matter what a child does as long as they’re willing to give it everything they have to succeed. You did everything you could, I take it?” the tone was still carefully blank, but the question was simple enough, and one that he never needed to lie about.

 

“Y-yeah.”

 

“Then that’s enough to be proud of.” And oh, that hit too close to too many ugly spots that Akihito had long since covered up with his tattoos and his art, all he ever did was strive during his years at university all to be here right now, a simple fucking _repayment_ for being good, not a ‘well done’ to go with it, yet for some stupid reason it meant more coming from Mikhail’s parents than it would have if it were his own.

Mikhail was right yet again, there hadn’t been a single damn thing to worry about when it came to this meeting.  The tension left his body in a huff of air as he looked at the floor still, seriously, Akihito couldn’t comprehend these people.

 

As he stared down at his sweaty hands on his knees, the image of Mikhail’s hand with that gold ring coming to cover the chrysanthemum a top his own to twine their fingers together in whatever _this_ was; was enough to have him at ease for the rest of the afternoon.

 

*

 

If there were two people on this earth Mikhail could trust; it would be his parents, and they hadn’t let him down with this. Like him; they knew which questions to ask, and what to steer away from to gauge a person’s character, that stupid old man of his was sharp, but luckily he knew to mind his own damn business, too. Yet he’d still managed to say the perfect thing, with perfect timing to get Akihito to unravel from his bundle of unnecessary nerves.

 

Now, it was turning out to be a good day, not his preferred day of lazing around in bed with Akihito, but just a good day was good enough for him, he’d had enough bad ones to appreciate the small things.

 

Akihito’s art book had come out, along with his camera and this enthusiastic shine in his eye that hadn’t been paying any attention at all to Mikhail, but to his mom instead. His Ma had already so _graciously_ offered to take Akihito around more hot spots in St Petersburg while she was here, and Mikhail didn’t know if he preferred Akihito sight seeing alone while he had to go do what a Syndicate leader should do, or if it was better for him to go with Aline, who knew all Mikhail’s weaknesses and secrets.

 

Yeah, fuck that, way better for Akihito to be alone, because Akihito himself was already fast becoming a big enough weakness as it was and his mom would have no trouble making sure Akihito knew that.

 

_Or,_ like any parent would; of course she’d bring up the penultimate issue right now. Travel.

 

They’d talked travel, skirted around Mikhail’s only concern right now, which was ridiculous for him, cos shouldn’t he be concerned about all the multinational businesses in his name, the millions of dollars that went in and out of his accounts every second, the underworld empire that lay at his feet? He probably should be, but he was way too side tracked for anything like that, Mikhail had always thought of himself as a focused person, but fucking hell, that one young man from Japan had messed him right up, and it was the most exciting thing to happen to him for a long time. 

 

And still they all talked, about all the things Akihito had left to do in Russia, and all the things he wanted to see and do elsewhere. Akihito was this animated, colorful mess of aspirations and fervor, it was clear this was something he’d wanted for a long time, so naturally the question amidst all that was; where _was_ Akihito going next? God dammit, Aline! Even Mikhail hadn’t even managed to bring himself to ask Akihito that yet, because he was afraid of his reaction if he didn’t like the answer.

 

The clueless blink and dumb struck expression of Akihito’s said that he hadn’t thought that far ahead though, because winging it was more Akihito’s style than anything else, a seriously cute style, because he was looking at Mikhail like _he_ should know the answer. “Umm, I think I was just gonna go to the airport and pick the first flight out to the best place, haha. That’s how I ended up here first.”

 

It fell into silence, Akihito’s loose attitude and holiday mode demeanor stunned them all, Mikhail probably the most though, he’d said it before and he’d continue to believe in what he said; fate was bull shit, but this was coming pretty damn close.

 

Dumbstruck, all Mikhail could do was sit there speechless, because now he had to fucking clue on how to approach Akihito about travel plans because there _were no travel plans._

“No, that won’t do at all.”  Aline suddenly put in, what was that old bat up to? Mikhail could see the glimmer of a plan in her eye, if there was any one more devious that Mikhail; it was his mother.

 

“Um, how come?” came the clueless question, Mikhail was curious about this too, so all eyes were on Aline as she cracked a winning smile like she’d just solved the meaning of Mikhail’s life.

 

“You need a home away from home, and Misha here travels for work to places all over, so why don’t you travel with him and then come back here to recuperate in between?”

 

Oh, that _was_ clever. Really fucking clever, of course his mother would come up with the answer to his problems like she always did if he ever called on her, she’d helped with the ultimate roof date after all.

 

He could kiss that woman right now, but maybe he’d settle with buying her a new handbag instead, from Paris, a handbag from Paris.

 

He’d take Akihito with him to get it.

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, note that slow build tag. I really don't want to skip over important relationship development, but things will be moving on a lot faster after this :) because there isn't actually that much to go. 
> 
> I was gonna wait to post this, but I am tired and hysterical because The Mighty All Blacks won another world rugby title last night, and I am a very happy, proud kiwi right now, so I am sharing the love.
> 
> And *cries* because I truly can't express my gratitude for everyone's comments on that last update, thank you.

“Oi.”

 

The slap on the back of Akihito’s head was feather light, something meant to give him a fright more than anything, and cos he was still on the fucking edge from being tired, sleep deprived and then put through the metaphorical wringer; he practically jumped out of his skin as turned to face Misha after heading to the bedroom for the night.

 

“What was that fo-

 

Akihito was cut off by intimidating intimacy as Mikhail advanced on him with a severe storm in his eyes, intense and full of power; he pressed Akihito back, and Akihito had no time or space to take in the way the bedroom looked now that twilight bathed the room. The way the shadows pooled in the corners of the ceiling, the way the brass door handles soaked up the last of the sun to shine, but not nearly as much as the threads of gold in Mikhail’s hair. The way the velvet of the claw footed chaise lounge changed color and texture with each different angle, the noise of cars and home-time footsteps from outside the open balcony doors, the clean scent of St Petersburg with notes of memories to be made that went with it.

 

No, his calves hit the edge of the bed that was fit for a king with its feather pillows and high mattress, white sheets and comfort that he’d never found anywhere else.

 

Teetering on his heels, Akihito realized that he probably wanted to fall, to be pushed at this moment, but still there was something about being backed into a corner that had every fight instinct inside him firing like the ball of flames setting on the horizon. Once again though, before he could open his mouth or bristle, Mikhail’s expression softened just like the dusk painting the room, it looked something like relief, but Akihito didn’t fucking understand enough to know.

 

“You’re a dumbass.” Misha eventually sighed, threading his fingers through the belt loops of Akihito’s jeans to keep them inches apart, closer to falling together as the Russian pressed in close.

 

Akihito, who had no fucking clue what to make of it all, only came up with “Huh?”

 

Another exasperate sigh came as Mikhail touched their foreheads together to stare down at him with those slate eyes, Akihito could see the speckled colors of his irises, those gold lashes up close with the short curled ones at the corners and the long thick ones framing the middle. “I could see you struggling with shit in your own head talking to my olds, you don’t have to tell them anything you know, fuck, as much as it grates on me to say it, you don’t have to tell me anything, either. So no stressing, you’re not cute when you stress. O.K.?”

 

Mikhail was gauging him, searching the window to Akihito’s conscience and looking for more hesitation, “Akihito, I’m gonna be honest and tell you now, you have no fucking idea how much I want to turn you inside out, I want to sieve through all of your memories and deepest desires and know everything about you, it’s instinct for me, and with you it’s like this ten fold feeling that keeps me up at night and it seriously drives me mental.” The pause came with a breath taken and pounding in his ears cos Akihito really had no fucking idea where this was going now, but it didn’t feel like a place he wanted to go, yet. “Oi, don’t stress out, let me finish.”

 

He let Mikhail go on, standing on the edge of the bed and feeling like an utter dick because who knew feelings could make you this wishy-washy?

 

“But, you tell me in your own time, ‘kay? I have no idea if it’s right or not, cos I have no fucking idea what I’m doing here either, oh my god, I sound so corny even I hate myself. Just fucking trust me, got it?” it ended abruptly like Mikhail had cut the tension with his own awkward attempt at appeasement. Here was this big time fucking crime lord trying to do feelings and he sucked just as much as Akihito, even if his honestly levels were off the chart. Fuck, he really was too charming, and mostly out of all that, Akihito got the message.

 

Instead though, he just locked his arms as best he could around Mikhail’s muscled frame, and pulled them both backwards on the bed as he laughed, “You’re a dumbass.” He fed Mikhail the same line as Misha looked up with a raised brow in feigned offence.

 

“Oho, why is that?”

 

“You think you could get any answers out of me if I didn’t wanna give them?”

 

The answering smile was wicked and mischievous, alight with the challenge and brimming with charm, and Akihito knew exactly what pushed Mikhail’s buttons now too, and staying here might be fun after all.

 

“I’ll make you eat your words, you little fox.”

 

The searing kiss that followed stole his ability for any more words, it stole his ability to fucking think, and function and all he could do was kiss back cos Akihito wasn’t gonna back down for anything.

 

*

 

Mikhail had never made out so much in his life, if he’d had a normal teenage life then this would have been it, in fact this _was_ it.

 

The white night outside was in full bloom, the sky a haze of purples and pinks, streaked with orange clouds and stars scattered in the infinity beyond. The glow in his master suite was ethereal, because they hadn’t even moved for him to close the curtains or even shut the fucking door.

 

This was like discovering how to kiss and be kissed all over again, like discovering how Akihito loved to have his bottom lip sucked and gnawed on, and how it made Akihito’s deft fingers curl in the hair at the nape of Mikhail’s neck with just enough grip to make it feel like Akihito didn’t ever want to let go, or better yet didn’t know how.

 

How Akihito seemed to be addicted to the small, short pecks on his lips, one after another yet never pulling far enough apart to actually separate, and then it would just turn into long, open mouthed kisses with brushes of his tongue and shared huffs of air that made both their hearts’ beat faster. How Akihito’s soft palm would roam back around to soothe the heavy pulse on Mikhail’s neck and explore his jaw with delicate touches like he was imprinting the feeling into his memories as their mouths moved together.

 

Fuck, those tattooed hands drove Mikhail crazy.

 

 

The heat of sharing the same air for so long was lulling, and he found himself just as hypnotized returning all the touches that Akihito gave him. Like brushing his messy blond hair away from his forehead so he could study the hazel eyes that were still too shy to look directly at him.

 

Like letting Akihito roll them over so he could kiss Mikhail however the hell he wanted, which was just the way Mikhail liked it anyway, and how it meant he could mash their lips together because he could bury his hand in Akihito’s hair too, pull them close, and run his fingers down Akihito’s spine and bring out more courage from Akihito, who’d let his hands roam more down Mikhail’s chest until he got too shy all over again. Then, it would be his turn; they’d flip back over and find a million more things to enjoy in kissing each other.

 

This was definitely what being a teenager must have been like, his dick was straining against his jeans, hard and in need of touching and he could feel Akihito’s was too, how lying in between Akihito’s spread legs and finding that two pairs of denim pants between them were too thick for any sort of satisfying friction.

 

Like fuck he’d come in his pants though, cos he was getting antagonizingly close enough to that point that pushed him beyond reason and then he’d just end up rutting against Akihito fully clothed anyway. “I want to.” He found himself murmuring against Akihito’s pulse, tasting the heavy thump of his heart and finding the skin rousingly soft on his lips.

 

In true teenage sweetheart fashion, Akihito shuddered in confliction, the tightening of his legs around Mikhail’s waist contradicting his kiss rough reply and pulling Mikhail further away from reason. “But… Your parents are staying just down the hall.”

 

That made it way too exciting for Mikhail to even think about stopping, it only amped this intense feeling, because it meant they’d have to keep quiet and restrain themselves, the satisfaction in something like that was worth it, because this pressure was driving him insane.

 

Akihito was already half way to being debauched already, his shirt pushed up his chest and his hair messy like he’d already been to heaven and back, his lips tinted kiss pink and his eyes excitedly glazed, because the words that came out of his mouth were the opposite to what they both wanted.

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to?” with a grind of his hips, fabric against fabric that Mikhail wanted gone already, and a squeeze of his ass for good measure, he flipped Akihito’s switch and pulled them both under.

 

“Ngh, hurry.” Was the whisper before Akihito draped his colored arms around Mikhail’s neck in reckless abandon, in fact that was _all_ he could say as clothes came off haphazardly, _quickly, more, faster,_ as they finally had the pleasure of rutting skin against skin and by passing foreplay, they were both too desperate for any of that shit.

 

They ended up fucking like that, sideways on the bed, way too horny and way too wound up to care about anything except getting off. He found out how erotically flexible Akihito was in the hips as they lay on their side with Akihito’s top leg hooked over Mikhail’s forearm to open him up wide and wanting and fuck, he was gonna come already anyway.

 

Chest to chest with wet kisses and quiet groans into each other’s mouth, it was close and intense like the best kept secrets always were, and with Mikhail’s hand finding Akihito’s dick between them; he made sure to bring Akihito over the edge with him as he came way too fast for someone his age. It hit him suddenly, the fire uncoiling in his gut and the heat that spread throughout, the boneless shudders and desperate rocks of his hips to make it last longer, and through all that Akihito was the same, arching into his hand and clenching his warm heat around him, his eyes scrunched and concentrating on his own pleasure that Mikhail milked him of down to the very last drop.

 

Fuck, this was like he was discovering teenage hormones all over again too.

 

*

 

Whatever time of night it was, they were clean and back in bed, door shut and curtains closed, and Akihito’s hand was twirling the curls at the end of his hair again.

 

“You like my hair, hm?” Mikhail mumbled as he played with his own new obsession; Akihito’s other hand was in his, limp and relaxed as Mikhail traced the scars with his thumb distractedly.

 

“It’s soft, and smells nice.” Came the admission as drowsiness blanketed them both in quiet honesty.

 

“ _You_ smell nice.”

 

“I smell like you.”

 

“I know, I like it a lot.”

 

“I-idiot.”

 

The smile that cracked Mikhail’s face was unbidden and way too contented for what someone like him deserved, “You’re too easy. Haha.”

 

“I know you are, I said you are, so what am I?” Akihito’s cheeks blushed red with indignation as he stuck his tongue out.

 

“You’re my boyfriend.” Mikhail teased and hit the bull’s-eye, because Akihito just groaned in embarrassment and rolled over to cover his face, fuck, he was so much fun, he loathed going back to work tomorrow. Which was something he had to bring up now. “Seriously, are you okay with chilling with my mom tomorrow? I’ve got work.”

 

A hazel eye peeked above a dragon-decorated forearm, “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

 

“Just making sure you’re not saying yes to be polite or whatever, you can do what you want you know.” when really in his head Mikhail was thinking the opposite, because that applied to his traveling plans in general, and he most definitely fucking wanted Akihito to do what _he_ wanted.

 

“Nah, I’m fine with it, seriously.”

 

He might as well get it all over and done with while he was here anyway, “What about the rest of it, you know, travelling with me when you can? Is that okay too?” Mikhail could feel himself tense up unconsciously with unsightly controlling desires and pure selfish want, he didn’t know how long this thing was going to last, but all he knew was that he wanted more for the time being, and cutting it short would fucking suck. If Akihito was fine with coming back here in between traveling, that would be enough for him for now, what he’d do when it wasn’t enough, he still didn’t know.

 

He got no answer though, Akihito had just turned into this scowling, blushing mess as he looked to struggle with his own answer, “I mean… it’s not like I had plans or whatever…”

 

“Ooooh, you’re blushing, go on.”

 

With a huff of courage, Akihito continued, “And it would be dumb to just leave and not see you again, I know you gotta work and shit, I’m not under any illusions, but I’ll deal with that shit as it comes, even if I travel from here by myself and come back, I just…. Get the feeling I might wanna come back here, or whatever, I don’t know!” at the end he buried himself under the duvet, much to Mikhail’s chuckling delight because he was back to being the prickly coy person that he felt like he was getting to know well.

 

“Don’t be too honest there, your head might pop.” He ruffled the part of the blanket that he thought Akihito’s head might be under and got a muffled ‘shut the fuck up’ for his efforts.

 

“I want you to come back here, too, Akihito.” Mikhail said after a while, plain and simple with none of Akihito’s awkward beating around the bush, he’d get the picture across even if Akihito had trouble with it.

 

Of course Akihito whipped the blanket back to stare at him with wide eyed surprise, searched his face for any hint of a tease or mockery, and when he found none, he broke out into this peaceful, relieved smile that Mikhail definitely wanted to see much more of, and flopped back down against the pillows. “Ok. So… um, how does this travel work then?”

 

“My jet.” Mikhail deadpanned.

 

“…. Wait, what?” Akihito was all quirked brows and skepticism now.

 

“We take my jet.” Mikhail deadpanned again, this part of it was going to take some getting used to for Akihito, he guessed.

 

In bewilderment, Akihito sputtered, struck with confusion, “But, like, I want to pay for my way and stuff and I can’t afford a fucking jet!”

 

Oh, now that was too funny, too genuine and too much the opposite of what Mikhail was used to, his mouth fell open in shock before he realized this _here_ was the one of the fucking reasons he was as infatuated as a school girl by this person; laughter took over. “You don’t gotta afford anything but the clothes on your back, dumbass.”

 

“Nah uh, seriously, I want to-

 

With a hushing finger sealing Akihito’s lips, Mikhail cut him off. “Oi, even if I did let you reimburse me, you realize me paying for you to stay and fly with me wouldn’t even make a dent in my pocket money, right? Save it all up for when you have to travel by yourself, or buy me some sick presents and spoil me rotten, but I’m not taking your fucking money, you idiot, what kinda boyfriend does that? Who do you think I am? Geez.”

 

And Akihito had this empty scowl on his face, full of stubborn pride and independent habits that Mikhail hoped would never change, “Psht, a rich one, apparently.” And he fucking loved the sarcasm that came with it.

 

“None of that, or I’ll start giving you money.”

 

At that, Akihito’s mouth snapped shut with an audile gulp, so this was Mikhail’s win, but even then, he’d be okay with losing to someone like Akihito, because this game was completely different.

 

“Anyway, you better get your Google on and see what you wanna do, cos I’ve got a meeting with a distributor this week, and you’re coming with me.” He said it offhandedly, casual and careless, if only to wind Akihito up because he hadn’t actually said the destination.

 

Like a cat with his ears on twitching in curiosity, Akihito was all eagerness with intent eyes shining in the lamplight and looking at him so thoroughly as if he could read Mikhail’s mind for answer. That was one thing he hoped Akihito could never do, because to disclose some of the things in his head would surely make Akihito run for the hills.

 

“Well?! Are you gonna fucking tell me where we’re going so I can look it up then?” Akihito burst under Mikhail’s teasing silence, sitting up and staring him in the eye in demand, and only this person would ever have the courage to speak to him like this.

 

“We’re going to Paris.”

 

And like boyish excitement full of dreams come true and memories in the making, his bed head sticking up at all angles like he’d never be tamed because he was as wild and feral as they came; the smile that dawned Akihito’s face was one of the best things Mikhail had seen yet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALSO DO YOU SEE HOW MUCH I SHIP THEM?!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been staring at this chapter for three days, I had so many plans, none of which ended up happening... whoops.
> 
> also typos. there will be typos.

Mikhail had never not wanted to go to work this much in his life, 5am starts were no fun for anyone, but neglecting work was something that Mikhail couldn’t comprehend despite what people thought of him and the airs he put on.

 

The only way to stay the best, to stay the strongest, was to prove it to people every single day all over again, and have some fun while you were at it too, nothing was better than people’s reactions as he defied expectations over and over, throwing people for a loop was one of the most fun things in life.

 

Everyday Mikhail woke up, reset from the previous day and began anew, it was the best way to keep his head clear of wasted emotions like worry and regret, the only way to look was forward, and if anyone got in his line of sight he’d fucking decimate them.

 

Everyday was a new day, this one especially, because he had to go to work and leave Akihito alone in _his_ bed, and there was something fundamentally wrong with that notion in Mikhail’s head. Oblivious to Mikhail’s morning routine; Akihito slept through Mikhail waking up and showering, getting dressed and re loading his weapons with fresh ammunition.

 

He was the weirdest sleeper, sprawled out diagonal across the bed with his feet off the side and his head on Mikhail’s pillow instead of his own, the white sheets covered nothing but his legs and left him bare from the waist up – fuck, he was tempted to take photos.

 

It was a view Mikhail _wanted_ to get used to in the mornings, that lightly tanned skin perfect with scarred imperfections on the backdrop of white cotton, his tattoos the masterpieces that told of Akihito’s whirlwind nature that was dormant only because he was resting and would be back full force the moment those striated hazel eyes opened.

 

Mikhail didn’t know what the future held when it came to this person, but it was something he wanted to find out, and the sheer fucking amount he obsessed over it was alarming because that’s what he was doing at exactly this moment already. It was amazing, when you had something that you couldn’t control; how much you wanted to see what would happen next.

 

Yeah, it’d only been a fucking week and a bit, but it felt like a split second, and that wasn’t long enough.

 

With will power only he left his bedroom and shut the door behind him, of course he found his parents already up and ready for the day in the kitchen even at this time, because old habits die hard and his parents were the most disciplined people he knew.

 

That old bat just looked at him, smug with herself and a steaming cup of tea as he took breakfast in silence, firing all the cylinders in his brain and readying for the day to come whilst his father did the same.

 

At 5:30 Yuri showed up, not a minute earlier or a minute later, and he made to leave with his right hand man to dominate today as he did everyday, but naturally his fucking mother had to get a word in as he left.

 

“I’ll look after him, don’t you worry, Misha dear.” And only a mother’s satisfied cackle could have him gritting his teeth before he shut the door behind him.

 

It took a few steps down the hall and into the elevator for him to quell the urge to go back to bed with Akihito right then and there, but with all the days’ meetings, paper work, goals and agendas shoved in his face with a hand from Yuri; he was back in work mode in an instant, because Yuri’s timing was always perfect even if he was a bastard.

 

“Nothing amiss while I was off?” it didn’t look like it as he sieved through the paperwork, but it was something he always asked, Yuri knew the drill.

 

“One thing about our upcoming meeting in France, our informant in Paris said authorities have a new task force aimed at cracking down on the trade of small arms and concealable weapons, of course we can buy them out or establish an agreement, but –

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on the same page, Yuri, I’ll drive the price up on both sides and lock them both into agreements so I control the market, oho, this trip might be a little more fun that usual. I wonder if Akihito will be interested in any of it.” He hummed the last part to himself in thought, because maybe he’d been thinking ahead _too_ much, of how to assimilate Akihito into his life even more and bring him in even deeper. Akihito was still undecided on the whole underworld issue, that much he knew, he was still undecided on the trust that went with it too, so if Mikhail could show him bit by bit and slowly usher him to acceptance then it would be his win. Control you could take from someone, trust was something that had to be given, and he wanted both of those things from Akihito _willingly_.

 

Shit, he’d been thinking about this way too fucking much.

 

Yuri though, had stopped in his tracks on the way to the car at Mikhail’s musings, sardonic and patronizing as he spoke in monotone. “You’re going to bring him into this world?”

 

They both knew the magnitude of that question, the selfishness and cruelty of it, because in reality the nicest thing he could do was keep Akihito away, “He can handle it.” Was all Mikhail shrugged.

 

Sighing in his own acceptance that his boss had made up his mind, Yuri followed him to the Hummer. “You’d better hope so.”

 

*

 

The day was moving slow, it was just passed 2pm and Mikhail had developed a fucking serious fear of missing out, so much so that he was a bit more ruthless than usual, less tolerant with negotiations and a little quicker in pulling the trigger. He didn’t feel rushed as such; it was just that the commodity of time had a little bit more value now.

 

Akihito had send only a hand full of texts, an adorable good morning that was full of typos and half sentences because he’d obviously sent it while half asleep, a more awake text after his mother took him to one of the coffee shops in the city, a quick reply at lunch with a cute smiley emoji that said he was having fun, and a question asking Mikhail what time he’d be home.

 

He was checking his phone like some desperate lover, which was only because his mom was quick and fast with the text messages, bragging in every single one of them, that old bag.

 

She sent him a photo of Akihito drinking that morning coffee, still with his permanent bed head and contradicting bright eyes, he was wearing a simple white tee this morning, tastefully loose enough to show some collarbone and the frame of his shoulders, three quarter skinny jeans and high top converses, he was cute and punk as fuck and the photo only made him jealous.

 

He got selfies of them both in front of all the famous cathedrals in town, of his fucking mother kissing Akihito’s cheek as Akihito himself smiled at the camera with his eyes wide in surprise because if he knew his mom; she would have done that without saying anything.

 

She sent a photo of Akihito zoned out on a stretch of green grass, sitting cross legged with his sketch book flipped open and his red hand working across the page, the profile of the photo was mesmerizing, it captured his concentration and unblinking eyes, his complete and utter dedication to the piece of paper in front of him. He wanted to be the only one to see that side of him, but it wasn’t so bad if his mom could witness that person at work.

 

More selfies and food photos, more photos of Akihito doing Akihito things that his mom had clearly picked up on too, and he couldn’t wait to go to France so he could have Akihito all to himself, for fucks sake.

 

The icing on the cake however, was the text just before he was going into another rendezvous as 4pm,

 

_> From: Mumsy_

_I’m adopting him._

And Mikhail couldn’t reply to that fast enough, because fuck no.

 

_> To: Mumsy_

_Piss off Ma, that would make him my brother, I’m not fucking my brother. He’s mine._

And, like every mother’s would be, her reply was fucking ridiculous.

 

_> From: Mumsy_

_Too much information... But at least if you marry him then he can still be my son, then we both win! How lucky is that :P I’m so clever._

He wasn’t even going to justify that with an answer, all he did was groan and bury his phone in his jacket pocket before going into his meeting.

 

Still, he was glad they were getting along, but the sooner he got on that jet with Akihito the better.

 

With the meeting over a few hours later, he was surprised to only find one more text message from her though, rather then the photo spam he was expecting.

 

_> From: Mumsy_

_In all seriousness, Misha, he is more than a match for you, don’t sulk when things don’t go your way._

She was sharp too, his mother, sharp enough to have gauged in a day what took Mikhail a week, and sharp enough to say that even though her idea had been to help him out, it wasn’t _for_ him exactly either.

 

He knew all this, she’d just brought them more time together to establish whatever it was they were going to end up as, and it fucking grated on him because if anyone fucked it up, it would be him and she’d have no problem heckling him for it.

 

Nothing like a precisely un-doting parent and a ball of energy to keep him on his best behavior. Sheesh.

 

Still, they were going to Paris and nothing could take away from that.

 

Only a few days to go.

 

*

 

 

Only a few _long_ days, it turned out to be for Mikhail. With his old man still working here in the city it meant his mother had free reign with Akihito, Mikhail had come home late each night because he needed to tidy things up and establish order before flying out, and that fucking woman had worn Akihito out so much every day that he was out like a light every single night he got home.

 

It was cute and frustrating and entertaining all in one, cute because Akihito’s exhausted sleeping face was pretty fucking adorable and it in no way suited the person he was when he woke up, frustrating because it meant it’d been three damn days since a proper conversation with him and he hoped Akihito was organized enough to at least plan what he wanted to do because he’d left everything except for accommodation in Akihito’s hands, and entertaining because every time he tried to actually _wake_ Akihito up to communicate or even steal a kiss; he got this seriously pissed off angry face of a just-graduated-uni student who valued sleep more than their own life. It didn’t matter if it was Mikhail waking him up or not, the half conscious ‘fuck off’ and subsequent roll over amused him to no end.

 

It was nearly enough for him to get the fix that he found himself craving as days went by, but he was getting his fix now anyway, because now they were on his jet, seated and ready for take off in a cabin separate to the small handful of men he was bringing with him, and finally Akihito was awake, coherent and looking at him with this concentrating face that Mikhail couldn’t place.

 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” He teased as the quite whine of the jet made itself known, and to his surprise that’s what he fucking did, no blushes about it, Akihito fished his phone from his pocket and snapped a shot in one quick go, and now he was smiling back this cheeky smile like he thought he was the funniest thing on the planet.

 

“Don’t mind if I do, then maybe the solid evidence will convince me this isn’t a fucking dream after all, holy shit, I am going to Paris on a jet with the napkin dude.” Even though it was true indeed, Akihito still resonated disbelief like he couldn’t believe his luck, and now that Mikhail thought about it too, this whole thing was just fucking insane.

 

“Pfft, you’d better believe it, cos we’ll be there soon and we have a few days before my men will have gathered enough intel for me to make deals with both sides.” The gentle ting of impending take off lit the cabin warning lights, and Akihito was staring at him intently, “So we can do whatever you want until then.”

 

And, because Akihito was probably under fewer illusions than Mikhail thought, he got this deadpan look and flat question. “Then what happens?”

 

Of course Akihito would want to know that, he must have a million reservations about it all, Mikhail wanted to know them all, and more than that he wanted to know what Akihito was going to do about them, because he had no fucking idea. He could read Akihito’s face like an open book in the moment, but when the person himself didn’t have plans for anything in the future, then Mikhail couldn’t even begin to speculate, and the relinquishing of control in that regard was oddly freeing, and maddening all in one.

 

It was time to see what sort of initiative Akihito was going to take. “You can come with me if you want.” He threw only one option out and left the other unvoiced. His mom would kick his ass.

 

An eyebrow curved high and quizzical on Akihito’s puzzled face, “Hah? No way, meetings are boring, I’m good thanks.” Akihito kicked back with a huff to emphasize how ridiculous it was.

 

This right here was what his old lady was talking about, it was a bit crazy after all, and way too soon, so rather than get hung up on it; he let it go with a sigh because it was worth a shot anyway.

 

As the plane reached altitude and leveled out, he heard Akihito mutter under his breath. “I’ll think about it though.”

 

And right now that was more than what he should ask for, and way more than he fucking deserved.

 

More than that right now though, it was time to find out what the Little Fox had in mind for sight seeing and plans, and for the four-hour plane ride he was captive to Akihito’s enthusiasm and excitement, really though, Mikhail didn’t give a shit where they went, because he wouldn’t be looking at the views; he’d be looking at Akihito instead.

 

He was in deep, it was probably time to start reigning it in, because any deeper than this and it would be him losing control all together.

 

*

 

 

The offer from Misha had rattled Akihito for a few seconds, but his reaction had been instant even though he hadn’t really even made up his mind, he was no good at sitting still, or paying attention to anything but a canvas for a long period of time, so he’d said no right off the bat on that thought alone.

 

Then, there was the fact there was no fucking point him being there, cos what could he do? Why did Mikhail even ask? Nah, he knew the answer to that last one, it’d taken Mikhail long enough to tell Akihito the truth about what he did for a living, and he was probably just trying to bring it up again because they both knew Akihito was still avoiding it.

 

He shouldn’t though, it’s not like he hadn’t been thinking about it, it was just that it didn’t fucking seem _real_ yet, because this wasn’t the sort of criminal life or family he was used to.

Mikhail wasn’t a poser pretending to be something he wasn’t, neither were his parents, and it felt so damn impossible that maybe he could have the best of both worlds with it all, so the instinct to turn a blind eye to it was there only because the fear of finding lies was painting an ugly picture in his head.

 

Maybe it was better to rip the band-aid off sooner rather than later though, because later on it would hurt so much fucking more. Or he could just peel a corner back and test the waters, because Aline had said it was okay to take it one step at a time despite what her son wanted.

 

Fuck it, he’d make a decision on the day, because right now they were touching down in Paris and like hell he was gonna think about all that when the sun would be setting soon and the city would be at its peak of beauty. Maybe he could _see_ the Louvre at least today before going to their hotel for the night.

 

*

 

 

They had a car waiting for them at the airport, nothing like the big black Hummer that Akihito had to step up into that Mikhail had back in St Petersburg, this car was a little Alfa Romeo sports hatch, high class black with a tan leather interior and a peppy throttle that made it fun to sit in the passenger seat as Mikhail took them to their hotel.

 

It was like sensory overload, he was in Paris, a place he’d longed to see since he’d learnt it existed, the windows in the car were down, the sunroof was open and twilight streamed through as they sped down the freeway, laughing as Mikhail weaved in and out of traffic and pretended to race with oblivious drivers who thought they were probably just a pair of hooligans. Well, they were a pair of fucking hooligans now that he thought about it.

 

Freedom whipped at his hair, the wind from the open window washed his face and sent cool air over his scalp like he was bathing in a vision he thought would never see in real life. Next to him the wind in Mikhail’s hair sent those curling locks of gold in all directions, he was looking at the road with a smile in his eye and Akihito would always admire that jawline from this angle sitting in the passenger seat. He had one confident arm a top the steering wheel, while his other hand gripped the gearstick with a poise that he was fucking jealous of. That gold ring was on that hand too, he’d never seen Mikhail without it. Akihito knew it was something he had to come to terms with, because Mikhail wouldn’t be Mikhail without that ring, he knew that much.

 

Dusk was taking over the sky as they arrived at their hotel, as Mikhail ushered him in quickly and wouldn’t let him look around, and after checking in with their minimal luggage he noticed Mikhail push the top floor button on the elevator, and wondered what he’d be able to see from there.

 

Yet before he could even step foot in their room, Mikhail’s body was looming behind him, warm breath down his neck and goose bumps on his skin, the intimate heat from the chest cradling his back made him utterly fucking weak.

 

“Close your eyes.” The accented voice crooned in his ear with a commanding note.

 

“Why?” and he could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks, because Mikhail had this way of getting into his space that made time stop all other train of thought.

 

He could feel the nose buried in his hair, taking in his scent and sending shivers throughout as Mikhail mumbled the nail in Akihito’s coffin, “You’ll see, please?”

 

The butterflies were fucking real, fluttering bastards in his stomach that made him jittery and _nervous_ like he was a goddam maiden being led to bed, instead he got a lingering kiss on the neck, a chuckle as Mikhail noted his reaction, and then a firm pair of hands grabbing his hips to guide him into their suite.

 

“Don’t open them until I say.” Mikhail was still as close as ever, guiding him with his body too as Akihito took blind steps on a soft-carpeted floor. It smelt like vanilla and coffee, of cleanliness and elegance and underneath it all he could still pick Mikhail’s scent, that masculine sandalwood with subtle notes of power and overwhelming confidence.

 

There were noises from outside, of cars on roads below, footsteps and voices that were too far away to make out, someone shouting in French and a car horn beeping, and they all got louder with each step he took.

 

“Watch your step, no, don’t open them yet!” came the chide from behind as uncertainty played with his instincts, but he lifted his feet blindly anyway, stepped onto a different surface and felt a cool air on his face and a gentle breeze tug at his patience because they were outside again and fucking hell he wanted to look!

 

“Okay, open them now.” Was the last instruction before Mikhail’s heat was gone and he was left alone to comprehend the world before him, déjà vu rocked him as he realized Mikhail had done something like this before already, and he never thought anything could compare to that view of St Petersburg from on top of the world, but this was pretty fucking close.

 

His immediate surroundings put him on a grey stone roof terrace with creeping green vines growing over the wall, cobblestone footing and potted topiaries with roses that were flowering white and red luminescent in the setting sun, a small two piece dining set with distressed white paint and a bottle of champagne in a condensation speckled ice bucket.

 

And that was only the foreground, because what he should be looking at was the River Seine below, the stone bridges with archways underneath and lamps reflected at the waters edge, of city lights glowing in the rising darkness, and the Eifel fucking tower standing sentinel in the distance.  That mammoth structure of an artist’s cliché inspiration stole his attention, lit from top to bottom in yellow light with the moody grey clouds of evening as a backdrop, and he knew he was going to spend every night out here looking at this landmark in his life.

 

The view couldn’t get better, and it was all he could do to savor it with steadying breaths and struggling comprehension.

And then he saw it, saw it as he explored the view from all angles of the quaint terrace that he was standing on, with the Eifel tower to his left, and on the right, down the waterway on the other side of the river was The fucking Louvre. That iconic glass pyramid glittered like the artistic beacon it was, and the medieval palace framing it was unmistakable.

 

“Well…?” Mikhail hummed as he leant on the stone balustrade like this was any old rooftop, like this wasn’t Paris and this wasn’t the best view money could buy, and why was he looking at Akihito when he should be looking at the view instead.

 

“I… just. Fucking hell. I can’t even right now.” That was it; all he managed to get out. He wasn’t often speechless, but Mikhail had this way of taking his words and replacing it with incoherent thought.

 

“I booked the right place then?” he turned, his eyes this unworldly warm render of grey skies and fondness all pointed in his direction, and the excitement hit Akihito full force, because he was in fucking Paris with the man in front of him and that made it so much better than anything he could have expected, this roof top included.

 

He only caught a flash of surprise widening Mikhail’s eyes as he stepped forward with this terrifying rush of feelings ceasing his body to grab Mikhail by the collar and pull him in for a kiss. But it was only a split second before arms wound around his waist, before Mikhail hummed against his mouth and kissed him back, gentle and on the edge of everything he’ll probably ever need but just didn’t know it yet.

 

Then Mikhail was smiling in his face as those calloused hands that Akihito knew were capable of delivering heaven and hell cupped his face, “You hate it that much?” came the tease.

 

“Yeah, it’s absolutely shit, you fail at life.” Akihito mocked back, and he hadn’t even finished laughing at Mikhail’s pout before he was pulled into a headlock and given a fucking noogie of all things.

 

“You little shit.”

 

And once the tussles and more balcony kissing was over in their secret garden on top of Paris, they drank the champagne directly from the bottle and got way too happy with it as they passed it back and forth. They got down to their underwear and spent the rest of the night rolling around on the bed that wasn’t as comfortable as the one at Mikhail’s, laughing, making out, playing 21 questions that revolved around all the stupid shit they’d done growing up, and making more memories that Akihito hoped he’d never fucking forget.

 

 

*

 

Three days and Mikhail was exhausted, exhausted in a way he’d never been before, because Akihito was _non-fucking-stop._

 

He’d had taken charge each day, not out of bossiness but out of overwhelming determination to see and do everything he could in the amount of time that the days gave them.

 

The days started off the best way Mikhail could hope for, of morning hard ons being taken care of thoroughly and utterly fucking mind-blowingly. This newly discovered Akihito-hand-fetish of his had him kissing down Akihito’s stomach in the mornings, sucking at that soft spot of skin inside his hip to make him quiver and moan in the back of his throat, it had him teasing with gentle licks and half hollowed cheeks until Mikhail got what _he_ wanted, until Akihito would thread both battle scared hands through Mikhail’s hair, gently at first, and then he’d hold on as he drove Akihito to the point of insanity, that grip would get viciously tight, conflictingly so as Akihito’s embarrassment of coming down Mikhail’s throat fought against the urge to hold on tighter and ride out the best head he’d ever been given.

 

It was always the latter, Akihito’s back arching up into this depraved angle, Akihito’s jaw going slack with silent whimpers and his head thrown into the pillows, and most importantly Akihito’s fingers curling in his hair with painful finality as Mikhail pulled him over the edge with one final drag of his lips down Akihito’s cock.

 

Mikhail would be so hard in the end, and Akihito so eager to return the favor that he’d be yanked up by his hair and kissed rough, hard and toothy, Akihito’s hand would snake between them to finish him off with a few deft tugs because those hands were just _that_ good. He’d come all over Akihito’s stomach in waves of vision blurring heat, and there was something about Akihito letting himself be marked like that which made it satiating on a primal scale, it’d pull this heavy groan from somewhere deep within and against Akihito’s lips. Waking up had never been so fucking good.

 

Then the days would be spent following Akihito’s every impulse. They ditched the Alfa Romeo because Akihito wanted to walk, or take the train or hire bicycles so he could infuse every aspect of the city into his memory bank. So he, Mikhail fucking Arbatov, would do just that, walk the city, _wait_ in line for entrance to The Louvre and eat at regular places for lunch, none of the high profile shit he was used to, and it was a fucking ball. There were people that knew his face, and it was fun to see the look on theirs when they realized he was playing tourist. That was good, it would keep people on their toes, and he got to spend time with Akihito while doing it.

 

He remembered where they’d been, The Eifel Tower, The Louvre, The Pantheon, The Catacombs, Canal Saint Martin, the little coffee shop on the river bank of the Seine with custard pastries that Akihito ate a shit ton of because they were just that good apparently, and so much more.

Where they went wasn’t that important to him, no matter the beauty of the building or how awe inspiring the piece it was always Akihito’s reaction to those things that were the best.

His pursed brows as he studied something intently, the pen he chewed the end off of when he took notes, the accomplished sighs as he stood in front of one of his many dreams, or they way he’d tell someone to ‘ _stop fucking staring’_ at him because sometimes he made just as much of a spectacle with his vibrancy and charisma, and he just didn’t get that he was _so fucking good to look at,_ so he’d get offended instead. Mikhail would admit he was vain down to his core, he liked things to look good, and he couldn’t help but think as he caught their reflection in a passing shop window that they did look fucking dapper together.

 

Their attraction was only growing, and he savored the way Akihito leant into his touches as the days passed, and as Akihito gave touches of his own. They started off small, coy and cute as fuck, a brush of fingertips or standing shoulder touching shoulder, and he’d never ever forget his utter delight when Akihito pulled him by the shirt for a cheeky kiss in a quiet hallway with a smile that was simply devilish, because his confidence was growing, and Akihito with confidence was a sure fire recipe for Mikhail’s full blown obsession.

 

The only thing that kept him from full blown possessive, hypnotized love sick mode was the constant calls he got from his men through out the city and their reports on the situation as it progressed.

 

The days went in a blur, the nights were a different story, they’d walk on cobblestone streets and eat at places Akihito had looked up on his phone, they’d get drunk together like best fucking friends could, give each other shit and then kiss in the next moment, drinking games and make out sessions and real _fucking_ friendship. Akihito got amusingly macho when he was drunk, and he wasn’t afraid to say he was _‘jealous of your handsome dumb face’_ or _‘you wanna fight, come at me, bro’_.

 

And whether they fucked for real in bed that night or not, Akihito would fall asleep, and Mikhail would be left awake, drinking water and sobering up so he could be ready to head out with a moment’s notice if need be.

 

There was no such thing as luck, so it wasn’t ‘luckily’ there’d been no reason for him to go out, it was down to the work of Yuri and his men in the city that had scoped it out and set up meetings, gotten rid of people that didn’t want to cooperate and let him have this time uninterrupted. They all knew he’d step in if the shit hit the fan, and they all knew he’d step in to rolls heads if they couldn’t do the job good enough. Loyalty with a touch of fear was his favorite combination.

 

The real work began today however, because those meetings were all set for today, he’d be apart from Akihito for most of it, because Akihito had just shrugged it off and said he wanted to do his own thing, but then surprisingly enough had thrown in the idea to meet up with Mikhail at a club in the heart of the city where the last meeting would be, and Mikhail wasn’t going to complain about that. The more interest Akihito took in his life the better.

 

They shouldn’t, he’d made fucking damn well sure they wouldn’t, but hopefully things went to plan, and nothing happened that would give Akihito second thoughts, because if anything went wrong, Mikhail thought that maybe, for the first time in a long time, he just might snap.

 

 

 

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am alive.

This was bad.

 

Akihito could admit now, he was genuinely fucking curious about _everything_ to do with Mikhail. Though it’s not that he wasn’t before. Mikhail had been this man of hot ass mystery with an air of wilderness and refinement at the same time that he’d never seen in Japan, and even though he knew what he did for a living now, Akihito still thought exactly the same thing, albeit for different reasons.

 

He’d started mulling it over more often, this constant image in the back of his brain that he couldn’t quite make out through this grey haze. Mikhail was the head honcho of the Russian Bratva, he knew that much, but now he wanted to know _more_. Maybe it was the fact that Akihito could actually comprehend that Mikhail and his family were decent, well intentioned people, even if their life wasn’t the most moral or even _normal_ , even if he was dangerous and ruthless, because he’d done a Google search on Mikhail’s name and it turned out no one ever fucked with Mikhail or his group.

It was a bit mental, the sense of pride he got in knowing that last fact, the fact that Mikhail was so fucking accomplished and acknowledged, and that he knew someone like that, that he could make someone like that groan his name with just his hands and bring out surprise on his face with unexpected kisses down quiet hallways and dark parking lots.

 

Despite that; there was still this uncertainty at the fact that someone of Mikhail’s caliber might really be into him, and now it was paired with a million questions in his head because it was like the more he found out; the less he really knew. When something was too good to be true, it usually was. There was something he was missing, and he was thinking so fucking hard about it that it was probably obvious, yet he’d never pick up on it; he wasn’t the sharpest pencil when it came to this shit.

 

Curiosity started the first unforgettable morning after their messing around in bed, when Mikhail openly strapped on a gun holster in front of him before he put on his aged leather jacket. Hooded grey eyes looked down at him the entire time, dark and foreboding in all their boss as fuck glory, the goose bumps weren’t fear though, they were because the only thing he could think of was how hot Mikhail was as he set his gun in its cradle like completing the picture of who Mikhail Arbatov actually was – and that… might have been the moment it became this full blown infatuation that he was currently wallowing in.

 

So now he wanted to know every side of Mikhail, because he realized others knew so many things he didn’t, and that was extremely fucking frustrating on the most childish, spoilt of levels and now he knew exactly what Misha meant about turning someone inside out. What was he like when he was angry, in fact, what _made_ him angry? Akihito had seen enough angry, murderous and disgruntled gangsters and yakuza in his time to understand that some of the things Mikhail must get up to would be down right horrifying, he’d seen it all first hand as a kid when they’d bowl down his front door seeking his mom for medical help.

 

It’s not like he was new to the shady world, he had acquaintances and memories a fucking plenty on that side of life, it’s just that he was new to having a _choice_ about it, so if he was gonna make this choice, then it was time to man up and see what he might be in for.

 

If these emotions kept on doing their own thing, then staying with Mikhail until they’d run their course was a very real thing and it was time to buck up and accept that – what it meant for his travel plans he couldn’t say, but he’d see the world and nothing could put a stop to that, because he’d only had a taste of Russia and France, and wanderlust was rampant for him right now too, it’d just have to compromise with this growing affection for someone he should probably – most definitely - stay away from.

 

He’d offered to meet up with Mikhail at the place of his last meeting, and that meant stepping foot back into a place he thought he never wanted to go anymore.

 

Maybe it would be different from home after all, because Mikhail _was_ different from home. Maybe Mikhail was home. Who fucking knew, being around him and his family was probably what an actual home should feel like. But when you have nothing to compare it to, how are you meant to know?

 

He tried not to think about it, thinking only made things fucking complicated, so he thought about the three days just passed as he sat himself down in one of the numerous parks surrounding the Eifel Tower. He set his sketchbook out for the day, along with a brown paper bag ripe with discolored patches where fatty goodness soaked the paper because of fresh chocolate pastries inside. He’d spent all this time building up this momentous inspiration and it was finally time to let it all out.

 

Except he did think about it. All fucking day he thought about it. And when he thought about things; he stressed and put himself on edge.

 

The first charcoal sketch he did was of that all too familiar imposing silhouette leaning against a stone railing and looking out at a St Petersburg sky; the first morning he woke up in Misha’s apartment. _Silver Lining_ , he scrawled at the bottom, naming it came instantly, even though he tried not to think about what it might actually mean to him.

 

Fuck, he was probably too far-gone already; he’d better keep himself in check, because nothing could scare someone away like a clingy, nosey lover that he was fast becoming. After all; nothing was more terrifying than liking someone more than they liked you.

 

 

*

 

 

The day was almost done by the time his phone went off on the grass next the mess of strained paper and coffee cups beside him, flashing with a shrill alert to go with it; he snatched it from the lush grass to silence the interruption of his hard won peace only to find a text message from Misha on his screen.

 

_> From: Misha_

_Meeting has been brought forward so I’m headin’ into it now, come and wait for me still, your name is on the list as Akihito Arbatov so you can come right in, (not sure if you wanted your real name out there) but I think it sounds better this way, no? :P see you soon <3 _

Well double-fuck-with-French-fucking-chocolate on top, if that didn’t make his heart skip a beat then he didn’t know what would. He didn’t even care anymore, now he just had his niggling feeling in his gut, this out of place urge that just wanted to see that suave bastard right this instant, and he knew what that feeling was; it’d not even been 24 hours and he already missed being in Mikhail’s company.

 

The smile tugging the corner of his lip was real. “Oi, isn’t that taking it a bit to far?” he muttered as he tried to palm away the blush on his cheek.

 

The soft yellow glow of Paris street lights served to guide him back to the hotel to drop his things off and get changed, the cobblestone streets of some of the old neighborhoods were just as picturesque and peace instilling as what he’d thought they’d be, couples and groups of friends started appearing in numbers to have their fun for the night, chattering away innocently without a care evident on their faces.

 

He needed to sort this out, soon, he could only be thankful that Mikhail wasn’t pushing for anymore than what he’d given, even though he could full well fucking take it all if he wanted.

 

Relationships were hard.

 

Finally with things dropped off and his clothes swapped for his trusty black skinny jeans, leather chuck taylors and plain white T, he was about as smartly dressed as he was ever gonna get to go somewhere no matter how flash it was, cos the thing was he didn’t give a shit about what anyone thought except Mikhail, and Mikhail wore the same sort of things as him – just in a larger size… with a gun holster strapped under his jacket.

Mikhail though, he made jeans and a T-shirt look like the cliché million bucks, like he’d always stepped fresh out of a damn fashion magazine except he was way hotter than that, seriously, not even Photoshop could edit something as eye catching as Mikhail.

 

Oh well, Akihito was armed with his tattoos and resting bitch face as he went back out and caught a taxi to the club called ‘Dawn’ in the night life district.

 

He should have bloody known though, that when the driver dropped him off in front of the club down the busiest damn street, that the line at this club would be the longest of all the fucking lines, just like the one at Mikhail’s club that he’d been to.

 

Bass music set the beat down the street, the people were loud here, obnoxious and already full up on a bit of liquid courage. Not that he cared. There were the girls with too high heels and too short dresses, men out on the pull for some chicks with a group of mates, and people that couldn’t fucking keep their hands off each other even though the night was still young. Akihito couldn’t relate to any of them. Clearly they couldn’t relate to him either, because as he walked up the few steps needed to get to the doorman, the exclamations came in both English and French for him to get to the back of the line. No one would think his name would be on the list after all, he was underdressed and unaccompanied and Akihito gave no shits at all.

 

“Think you’ve got the wrong club, hey!” came the remark in English before his shoulder was gripped from behind, right in front of the fucking doorman.

 

By now the sky was navy overhead and it’d been almost an hour since Mikhail text him, it wouldn’t be long until he was done and like fuck if he was going to let some chump stall him now. He turned to see the culprit; a dark haired dude probably the same age as him with slicked back hair and a button up shirt that showed off the horrid fake tan on his chest. Ugh. He looked like one of those guys from Geordie Shore.

 

“Na.” Akihito remarked dryly as he removed the hand from his shoulder, “I’ve got the right one.” Usually that would have been enough to rile him, but something like that was nothing to him now, so it was easy to turn his back on the gaudy guy with the tan and face the front once more.

 

“Ah, your name, monsieur?” the doorman piped up, the list in his hand and a bouncer at his side to diffuse any tension, he saw another lurking further back that he recognized too, Yuri or whatever his name was that came with them from St Petersburg. He met the cold blue eyes with a nod, feeling like this was some sort of test, cos yeah, by saying his name as it was on that sheet was openly claiming his place at Mikhail’s side, and maybe he didn’t have the balls for that. That Russian could play some mean tricks.

 

Better to get it over and done with though, the longer he hesitated the worse he’d look, or the closer he’d get to punching Geordie Shore guy in the face for staining his shirt with fake tan still on his fingers.

 

With hands in his pockets and a sigh from his chest, “Akihito Arbatov.” He managed coolly, and fuck yeah his pronunciation was on the money thanks to Mikhail and their name games in bed at breakfast and at night, they’d roll around in the sheets saying each others name until they both had it perfect, repeating after each other and teaching each other words from their native tongue to go with it. The way Arbatov rolled off his tongue after his given name was a little too smooth, and he liked the way it sounded a little too much.

 

It must have come across that way too, his suave drawl with a tiny speck of pride and arrogance at shutting the bastards up behind him, and this was what it was like to stand at the top of the heap and not the bottom, and Akihito could admit that it felt fucking good for once.

 

“… Holy shit, that guy would have fucked you up, man.” Akihito caught the whisper as he stepped through the cordon, and of course he couldn’t resist turning around at the door and giving the guy that stopped him a middle finger salute with a smirk on his face. The scars on his knuckles gleamed in the streetlight, the crimson on his hand loud and clear with intent, and this was good, this was what having control felt like.

 

“Let’s go, Mikhail will be done shortly, you can wait for him at the bar upstairs before you make any more trouble.” Yuri closed the distance between them, and Akihito fought not to cringe, because if anyone reminded him of his dad it was that guy, cold, calculating and impassive.

 

The instinctual urge to snark was natural, to find something smart to say and turn it around because fuck it, he still wasn’t nearly that grown up, and he still fucking hated being talked to like that. “I don’t make trouble, trouble makes me.” It was funny, because years ago that statement was more accurate than anything else to describe him, he probably couldn’t have drawn something more accurate than that. He didn’t know how he’d draw himself now, though.

 

He was expecting a scolding, cos that’s what his old man would have done, maybe a smack on the back of the head or a flat toned ‘grow up’, instead he got a chuckle that touched Yuri’s eyes and dimpled his cheeks, a flashing sparkle of his demeanor that took Akihito’s world and turned it upside down and back again in the space of that sound.

 

“Spoken like a true Russian.” Yuri dipped his head in acknowledgement, of what; Akihito had no fucking clue, but then it was fine. That impassive demeanor came back, but after that laugh any similarities to his own father Yuri had were gone. So, Yuri led him up a shadowed hall off the entrance and up a carpeted stairway, black walls and black threads at his feet, the muffled thump of music followed him up the steps along with split second flashes of strobe lights and colored rays. The further he went up the stairs the more class oozed from the establishment, until they arrived at the second story bar not jam packed with young party goers heaving on the dance floor, but of men drinking at the bar and playing pool in the corner, of groups sitting at a table having a laugh and sticking to themselves.

 

There was the odd person on alert, the men at the back of the room in black suits with rings that gleamed under the dim wall lights that looked him up and down and tracked him all the way to the bar, the pair on the pool table with expensive wrist watches that stopped to do the same, that feeling of being weighed and measured crawled up his spine. That familiar feeling when people were gauging him as a threat or not, suddenly the smell of trouble mixed in with the cigarette smoke and hoppy tang of beer.

 

“Woah, I’m popular already.” Akihito deadpanned to himself as Yuri called for their drinks, and then turned to glare at the room. Those guys were gangsters, no fucking question about it, probably part of the group Mikhail was here to meet. He wasn’t dense enough that he couldn’t figure that out.

 

Yuri grunted next to him, scanning the room as he did so, “They know you’re Mikhail’s plus one, everyone is curious.”

 

“Ha!” Akihito’s barked laugh came up with all the sardonic irony he felt at that statement, they could fucking get in line, no one was more curious than him; about Mikhail that was. “They can curious my ass.” He muttered before he took a sip of vodka that’d just landed at the bar in front of him, so Yuri wanted him to drink Russian too, it was lucky the expensive vodka went down like smooth fire, better than the sandpaper hot memories of cheap vodka from clubs back home.

 

This was okay, he could be here, Akihito realized, and not compromise everything he’d worked for. He didn’t know why, he’d wound himself up so fucking tight in the space of a day, but now he was here he felt his tension draining, this was okay.

 

Okay after a few quiet drinks and small talk with Yuri about sweet fuck all, okay until the men that’d eyed him up as he first walked in with the rings and the suits leant against the bar next to them in that condescending way that said ‘I’ll smile but I don’t like you and you know it.’

 

“Look what the Bear dragged in.” came a simple statement from next to him, spoken in that cliché French accent that girls swooned over in the movies. If the three guys that were now next to them at the bar thought they were going to get a reaction, they were wrong. He couldn’t fuck this up, and he didn’t fucking care what they had to say anyway.

 

So there was this weird gentlemanly silence for the next few rounds, them with their European beer, and him and Yuri with their liquid fire, bathing in the refined shadows that were cast from the classy lights around them. There were bastards like that no matter which walk of life you took, this was easy.

 

It’s not like they didn’t keep trying, but at least they were straight forward with it.

 

“Bit young to be in a club, aren’t you?” came the next question, and all Akihito had for that comment was a blank stare, and then the prompt sinking back of his drink in one go. Maybe he should be careful with that.

 

Yuri watched him the entire time as this weird tension rose, Akihito was feeling good, but the Frenchmen; not so much.

 

They were creative enough, he’d give him that, but for their entire aesthetic refinement, their personalities were anything but.

 

“How much is he paying you?” came one question, and it was so fucking far fetched that he actually let off a snort into his tumbler before he gawked at them in disbelief. These guys were just the muscle, Akihito decided, no brain at all.

 

“Paying me?” Akihito repeated, incredulous “Mate, that Russian bride was expensive. You’re just jealous you can’t afford him and I can.” He said it dead serious, because it was about as plausible as what they’d just asked him. He got open mouths and wide eyes in return, with not one word.

 

That was it for Yuri though, not in a way that he’d thought it would be, because the straight laced old man coughed his drink back into his glass in surprise, chuckling as he did so, because no one had probably ever compared Mikhail to a Russian bride before. Maybe it was a little bit funny.

 

Before he could bring himself to laugh though, the moment was gone.

 

“Tch, dude’s a freak just like Arbatov and the rest of his family, let’s go.” The guy closest to him murmured as they turned to leave, finally bored with their nonexistent game.

 

It wasn’t anything to react over really, a mutter under a breath not even meant for him, but it lit this feral fire in him that he hadn’t felt in a long time, Misha and his family were fucking amazing, they were welcoming and accepting and these bastards didn’t know shit.

 

He moved on pure uncoiling instinct swirled with a bit of liquid courage of his own, it wasn’t even something he needed to question, from cool and uncaring one second, to completely intent on shoving those words back in the man’s face with his fist the next.

 

Akihito was surprised with his clarity of thought at that moment , because he could see the choice before him again. He was doing so well, he’d ignored them enough for them to give up, insults to himself he could handle well enough, but it turned out he couldn’t handle insults to Mikhail’s person at all.

 

Tumbler left half full on the bar; Akihito swung from his stool and caught up to the group in two smooth strides, and if he’d really noticed his surroundings then, noticed everyones’ focus on them, then he’d have noticed Yuri on his heel too, yet here he thought he was going in alone.

 

The suit didn’t feel as expensive as it looked as he tapped the tall Frenchman on the shoulder for his attention, and who was Akihito kidding, the guy looked cheap compared to Mikhail anyway.

 

What _was_ soft was the flesh of the man’s cheek as his fist connected in a punch that wasn’t as rusty as he thought it would be, Akihito knew this fight was different to any other fight he’d been in. This was his choice and that was all the difference enough for him.

 

He expected an onslaught, to be outnumbered as he always used to be, but as he ducked under a returned punch and lunged forward with all the force his legs would give him; Yuri stepped in at his side with fists raised and a smirk ghosting his lips. _That_ was different too, Akihito had never had anyone on his side before.

 

“Trouble makes you.” Yuri chuckled to himself as violence erupted, and Akihito really was fucking okay with his decision.

He didn’t think about repercussions as a blow glanced off his lip, as his own fist connected with someone’s chin and whipped their head back because maybe he wasn’t as out of practice as he thought; or maybe it was just the adrenaline surging through his blood.

 

All this happened in such a small space of time, even though in his head his infernal thoughts felt like eternities on end, he was in a fucking bar fight in France with a Russian on his side and French on the other, all closing in, it should have been bad, but the thing was; Akihito felt like this fight of all his fights was justified.

Maybe this was what it was like to be proud of the name that you bore? Amidst the chaos, Akihito didn’t know.

 

All he really knew was the moment, in the corner of his eye that an inconspicuous door opened to let more people in, Russians he recognized from the plane, and lastly, Mikhail.

 

Then, all hell broke loose.

 


	22. Chapter 22

The day had been full of unexpected things, Mikhail had gained the biggest advantage over the French he’d had in years, with all weapons under his distribution now and the local authorities in his pocket, it would make his international trade even more prolific, and that was always a good thing, because why stop at the border when he could go above and beyond? Ambition always kept him on his toes. The day he got complacent would be the day he died, and fuck that, he was going to live forever.

 

Then there was the occasional message from Akihito, telling him to ‘go away, I’m concentrating.’ Whenever Mikhail had time to ask what he was doing. The hellish part of him hoped that whatever Akihito was concentrating on had something to do with him, and if it wasn’t then he’d just have to work until that’s all Akihito _could_ concentrate on.

 

His level of distraction purely at having Akihito in the same damn city had been unexpected too, so it was a nice surprise when he got word that Akihito had used his surname to make it passed the doorman at the club, another selfish and greedy way to tie Akihito to him, it was self-indulgent, but Mikhail couldn’t bring himself to care at this point. All he could fucking care about was that it was their last night in Paris and he didn’t know what tomorrow would bring them when it was time to go back, so tonight he was going to court the shit out of Akihito in hopes that he’d like Mikhail more than he liked France, enough to want to come back with him rather than look at the city with this out of control wanderlust that Mikhail couldn’t help but want to defeat and banish into the snowy depths of icy Serbia.

 

That’s what he had planned until more unexpected shit happened anyway, until sounds of commotion bloomed as he walked down the elegantly lit hall in the back corridors of the club, the sound turning crisp and clear as men opened the door before him, and when he stepped through, Mikhail didn’t know whether to laugh, to shoot someone in the fucking head, or both.

 

There fucking goes his well thought out evening. He should have figured things would never go this smooth with someone like Akihito, but that’s what made it so damn exciting.

 

He had to give it to them, they were outnumbered but holding their own, Yuri was hard to best even for Mikhail, his fists close and his movements practiced with not a shred of fear after many a bar fight just like this one, and many more fights for his life that weren’t a touch on something like this.

Smiling and Yuri never usually went in the same scene either, not that it was really a smile, more like this contented smirk as his usually dull eyes shone with menace, that bastard was enjoying this, enjoying a fucking bar fight with Akihito at his back. It was oddly satisfying; Yuri wouldn’t back just anyone in a fight, that much Mikhail knew.

 

Then, there was Akihito himself, and just like so many fucking times before, he managed to steal all reasonable train of thought.

 

Akihito who’d been this sometimes shy, but mostly wickedly outgoing travel partner, a man who came from a family of laws and high expectations; right in the thick of it all. He didn’t belong here in this underworld cesspit, but the thing was, in this moment with zesty fire in his eyes and a wild speed to his nimble body; he looked like he’d been here all along.

 

If Mikhail thought he was breath taking before, it was inexplicable now, he should hate it, hate himself for being the reason Akihito was fighting with those fists he’d worked so hard to keep clean, he should feel the lowest of the low.

 

The monstrous part of himself couldn’t help feeling like this was exactly how it should be, while the compulsive side of him snarled inside as he saw Akihito take a nasty jab in the ribs, it wasn’t so much a feeling of wanting to wrap him in cotton wool as it was wanting to be the one by his side in a fight.

 

His plans for the night were _definitely_ ruined now, so with the thought of protecting those precious fists in his immediate thoughts because he really should take the moral high ground this once; into the fray he went.

 

 

*

 

 

It ended as fast as it began after that, a few more last chance punches from all sides until the big bosses joined the skirmish, Akihito felt Mikhail at his side instantly after he got a nauseating hit in the ribs, and shit, Mikhail was fucking crazy. Only then did Akihito stop to think that maybe he’d fucked this up after all.

 

Mikhail’s very presence quelled the conflict with his icy demeanor and cold brutality as he stilled everyone with the sheer size of his fists and calculating movements, not one action wasted, he didn’t even need to draw his gun to put them in their place.

 

There was that look again, one that Akihito couldn’t read, and it terrified him more than anything as everyone stood, weary in their respective states of caution. The pools of light on the walls played on Mikhail’s eyes, emotionless and glassy, blank as Mikhail stared everyone down, he spared no glance for Akihito, and that was the most worrying thing of all.

 

His voice, crisp and sharp with authority rang out in Russian as he spoke to Yuri, and then Yuri looked at Akihito with that shadow of a smirk on his face and shrugged, before answering back in the language that Akihito had been trying so hard to grasp over the past few days.

 

If he thought he was getting somewhere with it, he was dead set fucking wrong, all that built up in him as Mikhail’s curt conversation with Yuri continued was the legitimate fear of dismissal, all he could do as their talk played out was stand there as put together as he could manage, his blood still humming with energy and the pains of blows to his person now kicking in.

 

Now his heart was hammering out of pure nervousness, and with each beat he could feel the control slipping in between his trembling fingers, he’d given Mikhail too much, that much was clear by the sheer queasy thought that after a stunt like this Mikhail would call it quits. Why wouldn’t he?

 

All he could do was stand there and fucking _breathe_ , one calming breath after another as the room cleared out, Yuri gave him this clap on the shoulder as he left, and any other time Akihito would have taken that as reassuring.

 

Then, he was left with no one but an unreadable Mikhail. He’d rather get into another fight than face his impassive expression. In the tumult a few bar stools had been knocked over, a couple of drinks spilled on the rich wooden surface of the counter, that was all there was to mark the previous disturbance that played out only moments earlier.

 

There was no looking away from the void in those eyes as Mikhail approached, no way of moving as he drew close to tower over Akihito with all his fucking ridiculous poise that Akihito would never _not_ fail to notice.

“Let’s go.” Mikhail murmured, he didn’t even look back as he made his way to the stairs, down he went, just like Akihito’s fucking heart as it sank into his stomach as he followed.

 

 

*

 

The ride back to their suite was so fucking silent Akihito thought he might throw up just to break the tension, but it was mercifully short, like the traffic knew to stay out of their way, the lights knew to be green because probably everyone in a block’s radius could feel the strain.

 

Up the lift they went to the top floor, down the short hall to their rooms on the end, where the door shut behind him with a click that raised the hairs on his neck even though he was the one that closed it.

 

Mikhail didn’t go far, he walked to the open space in front of the bed before turning, his gaze a little different now, simmering with something indecipherable. “Yuri told me what happened.” Came the open-ended statement.

 

“I...” he started to say something, but before he got any more words in Mikhail was there in two smooth strides, caging him in against the door with this viscous hunger turned on full heat emanating from his entire person. For an artist his powers of observation had been fucking shit, now he could see the open obsession Mikhail had been hiding before, one Akihito understood perfectly. Mikhail fucking Arbatov was _shaking_ , shaking as he took each of Akihito’s hands in his, calloused thumbs running over top his knuckles with a tenderness that hurt more than any fight ever would. He was still thinking about Akihito first, even though Akihito had just caused a damn shit storm of trouble.

 

“I shouldn’t like that you got into a fight for me,” Mikhail rasped, his thumbs still playing over Akihito’s knuckles. “But fuck me, Akihito, I can’t help it.”

 

Akihito sagged at the words as the heat melted the icy tension that’d been freezing his gut, the words falling out of his mouth as relief turned into annoyance at himself. “You dick, you fucking scared me.” He countered to hide his moment of weakness.

 

All he got was a taken aback Russian who’d stepped back to look at him in question.

 

“I thought….” Even the thought of saying the rest made him feel sick, even through this whole exchange there’d been no alarm bells in his head that’d told him to run, and that should be fucking sign enough in itself that this _was_ different.

 

Maybe he’d spoken too soon though, because as Mikhail stood framed by the French doors behind him with the lights of Paris twinkling in the night sky through the glass, he got serious again. “You think I’d break up with you for something like this?” Mikhail rumbled, “You think I’d let you go after you attached yourself to my name like you did? I don’t think you know what it means that I let you in on this side, Akihito. Fuck, even _I_ don’t know.”

 

Akihito’s next question came out before he had time to think the implications over, and oh how he fucking wished he could take it back the moment he’d said it, blurted before he could think about what he was actually asking, about what the answer truly meant. “Does it mean that you trust me?” it hit them both like a slap, because it should have been obvious by now, even though it hadn’t been long at all.

 

And _that_ was the blow that made Mikhail himself break, growling under his breath as he closed the gap once more to press Akihito against the door with a hot mouth against his neck. “What do you think?”

 

This probably wasn’t what Mikhail had planned for their last night here, but he honestly couldn’t give two shits about plans anymore.

 

Like the answer to his question, Mikhail let him have the control, he let Akihito force him down onto the plush bed and straddle his hips, and _oh_ holy fucking shit he’d seen a lot of exquisite things in his life, but this one might take the cake.

 

Here was this absolute monster of a man underneath him, midway between disheveled and naked, his chest heaving underneath the unbuttoned shirt, muscles taut with tension and want, eyes pure fucking restraint and hunger as his hands clutched at Akihito’s jeans.

 

In his dwindling comprehensible thoughts Akihito realized that Mikhail had just as much control in all this as he did, and the satisfaction of that realization was the fire that stripped away the last of his inhibitions.

 

Mikhail’s breath grew ragged, punctuated with frustrated curses and the desperate upward grind of his hips against Akihito’s thighs as he sucked at Mikhail’s neck, at his ears and chest, his fumbling hands blindly working at the rest of his shirt, his belt and finally his pants.

 

“Akihito.” came the feral growl in his ear, “I swear if you’re not naked in 2 fucking seconds, I am going to destroy you.”

 

The threat was enough, and it was probably like 2.5 seconds after that he was straddling Mikhail naked, desperation and urgency pushing him to the wanton as he fingered himself open, whimpering when Mikhail’s heavy-handed fingers dug into his cheeks to pull them apart.

He was hardly prepped enough, but as he sunk himself down onto Mikhail’s dick he decided he liked this pain, because with it came this ragged fucking shudder of a groan from the depths of Mikhail’s chest that said Akihito was making him lose it too.

 

There was this moment of falling as he looked into the lust-addled darkness of Mikhail’s eyes, caught in the immeasurable storm of this man who’d made Akihito find the beauty in monochrome. It was Akihito who’d done this to him, forced him onto the white sheets and stripped off his clothes, made his breathing heavy and his jaw rigid with impatience. “Move, Akihito.” Came the half command, half plea.

 

So Akihito moved, he started with a testing wriggle, driving them both so insanity until he was hips rolling back and forward without thought, fast and hard just the way he knew Mikhail liked it. They both fell to pieces, Akihito moaning as his fingers raked across Mikhail’s chest, and Mikhail, urging him on, faster, more, harder.

 

It wasn’t enough, and all Akihito could do was growl as near release teased him over and over with each desperate stroke of his own cock.

 

Mikhail took the cue though, seized the moment with perfect timing as he flipped them both with a rough snarl, “You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?”

 

And then Mikhail was driving his hips; slamming home to the spot that had Akihito coming in euphoric whimpers, because he didn’t know what to do when he felt this fucking good.

“Watch me, Akihito.” Mikhail prompted amidst the soul splitting bliss, and through this pleasure hazed vision he saw Mikhail, felt the lightning up his spine as Mikhail bore his hips down one last time and let himself go.

 

Those grey eyes scrunched shut as Mikhail bit at his bottom lip to keep his own moans smothered, his breathing utterly fucking wrecked and stuttered, a picture of vulnerability and defenselessness right here in this moment. Trust.

 

And fuck it all; this really was a damn sight better than anything else they could have done tonight.

 


End file.
